Halo: The Mirratord
by soulguard
Summary: 120 years before the events of Halo, the greatest of the Sangheili race have been called together to do what must be done in order to protect their kin from the unknown mysteries of the Covenant. This is where the legend begins.
1. One Child, One Destiny

The Popularity of the Mirratord continues to grow, and since I created them orginally, I felt it necessary to give you the "OFFICIAL" back story. This is dedicated to you, the Fans of the Mirratord.  
-Soulguard

* * *

**The Miratord**

**Section 1: One Child, One Destiny**

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"  
Home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
June 8, 2434 : Sol Relative Time

Dust crept into his lungs as the blazing sun sat high overhead. The desert was ruthless, even to the most adept. For as far as his young eyes could see lay nothing but endless wasteland. Sweat beaded from beneath his garb and each massive step from his hoofs became more and more of a struggle. He kept his hood upon his head in the hopes that the sun would not bake him, even though his dark Sangheili skin was perfect against the suns harsh rays it was wise to keep himself covered or the sun would only increase his exhaustion.

The Sangheili youth was lost, and there was nothing left to do but push on. His trainer had warned him, but youthful minds pay no attention to wise elders. He had long lost his way, wondering aimlessly across the sand dunes of the Bacione desert. For three days he had been wondering with only the sun and stars as his guide. He followed the direction of the sun; day and night. In the morning he made sure that the sun was at his direct back, and stepped on his shadow. At noon he would rest, and at sunset he faced the sun until it vanished directly in his path. This was his only thriving purpose for now, to push on in the hot wasteland and avoid the snapping wail of death.

He pulled a mask off of his hip lock and placed it upon his face, covering his lower and upper mandibles. He then pressed a small switch on the mask and water vapor began to spray into his mouth. He drank it cautiously, knowing that the mist would have to last longer than it was intended. Yet it suddenly stopped, and began to beep softly. He ripped it from his face and cursed in his Sangheili tongue.

"Why have my ancestors forsaken me?" His roar channeled across the desert mounds, yet it was silently washed away by a strong wind. He crumbled to his knees; thirsty, hungry and tired, even his hoofs ached beyond compare. He leaned forward and crumbled into the sand. He had to stop; he had to regain his composure and wits. This couldn't be the end, there had to be away to survive. This was not what he had wanted to achieve.

The sun rose high over his head and he slowly pulled his hood and cloak over himself. The suns strong rays would only make him more tired, so he settled on the heat of his hood. He grew increasingly angry with himself as he sat motionless in the heat, and pondered how he had made such a horrible mistake.

- - - - - - - -

_Three Years Ago…_

"Start over, and this time do them in unison!" The wise Sangheili warrior ordered. He had no name, thusly meaning he was not worthy of such praise. He had no mate, no children, no history; he was simply an enigma that existed to train the un-trainable. For nearly eighty years young political children that were spoiled and disobedient were sent to his home and trained to be warriors; the best warriors. His training method was cruel and brutal, but Sangheili blood would have it no other way. To be a warrior meant sacrifice, discipline, common sense, a clear mind, and most importantly strength.

He glared at the young Sangheili children before him, "None of you will be worthy of entering the Holy Prophet's Academy at this rate. Become Watchmen? None of you are worthy of such a title!" He kicked out at a youthful warrior that dared to glare at him; hitting the young trainee in the mid section. "Do you wish to test me? Do you think you can challenge me? You lack respect for your elders!"

A snicker echoed from the corner of the small training hall, "He calls himself an Elder and he has no name." To the Sangheili a name was a precious thing, it was an honor and a gift to upheld, but to exist without a name meant you were the lowest of the race.

The elder strode down the isle of students, they all looked up as he passed, and made his way to the student that had made the comment. With little effort he gripped the child's throat and lifted him off the floor. The child squirmed as the elder snarled into his face.

"And you think you are better than me!" The groan in his voice bellowed into a full roar. The child held on to his arm, terrified. The elder turned and faced the other young. "Finish your leg squats, one hundred of them before I return!" He dropped the child and gripped him by the collar of his training clothes. The loose fabric tore slightly from his aggressive grip as he pulled him to the back of his training hall. He aggressively kicked the door open and slung the young Sangheili into the muddy soil.

It had rained all night, and the forested region was hazy with humidity. The young child huffed as he wiped the mud and muck from his face, and the act left him blind to the oncoming barrage. He had little time to react as the elder hit him fully in the jaw. The young child whimpered as he was tossed several feet by the blow. He head hurt from the blow and his balance was completely gone. He staggered to his feet as tears swelled in his eyes.

"Tears?" The elder roared. He kicked the young trainee and cupped his head in his hand. "You would show your weakness to an opponent?" The elder gritted his mandibles tightly and tossed the child back into the mud. He then pinned his head and shoved it into the ground. The child's purple-blue blood began to drip from his mouth as he sat up. He began to crawl away, fearful of his life. The child looked up and could see several other elder trainers only a few meters away, close enough to help him. He cried out for help, but they didn't care. They could clearly see what was happening, but they made no motion to interfere. They knew who he was; another spoiled child from a political family. Some of the other trainers even laughed as the boy begged for help. The elder stepped on the boys back, pinning him to the ground and forcing the wind from his lungs. He gasped as pain swelled throughout his body.

The elder leaned closer and whispered into the child's ear. "Did you think they would help you, a weakling? Look at you; covered in mud, crying, and begging for help. To the Sangheili, only the strong survive. I may not have a name, but my skill as a warrior is second to none!" He stomped on the child's back, breaking a rib, and the male youth cried out in pain.

"You will learn, young one… you will learn to respect anyone that is your superior. Since the days of the Prophets, all of our young have become weaker and weaker, but not you. You will be among the best and you will learn respect and honor of all Sangheili Warriors. You will understand, because I will break you if you don't." With one last kick, the elder walked away from the crying youth and returned to the training hall.

The beaten and sobbing child sat up from his prone position. Mud covered his training robes and blood dripped from his mandibles. He slowly crawled to a tree and braced himself against it. His wounds would heal, but not his pride. If he had any respect amongst his fellow students it was instantly taken away from him. Why had the elder become so angry with him? Why take it this far? The child was young, but not stupid. He felt as though the elder was picking on him.

He wiped the mud from off his face and felt a loose tooth. Stretching his mandible wide, he gripped the tooth with his fingers and snatched it from his mouth. It only hurt a little, as the majority of the damage was done by the elders punch. The child stood and winced in pain as he felt the broken rib in his back shift with his muscles. There was no way he could continue training with such an awkward injury. He couldn't take a deep breath of air without the bone shifting. The elder was going to get angry at him again if he couldn't continue training. He began to feel tears roll down his face and he dried his eyes. He watched as the older students and their trainers ran passed him. They had seen him get beaten by the elder of the trainers, but instead of mocking him in passing, they stay focused in their drills and didn't comment. He had acted like such a child, crying out for help, and sobbing in the mud, he wanted to take it all back, take back his comment and forget that any of this had ever happened, but it was too late for wishful thinking.

He turned away from the older students and cautiously began to walk toward the training hall. The door ahead of him opened and a female Sangheili stepped out. She quickly scanned the area and spotted him. He slowly made her way to him and knelt down to eye level.

"Your jaw is swollen, young one." Her voice was deep, yet soft, normal for a female. "Any other injuries?

"My back." He replied softly. "Why did he attack me?"

"Because you think you are better than everyone here. It seems that aggression is the only thing you understand."

"I am better than all of them! My father is …" His words were cut short as the nurse smacked him across the face with the open stretch of her palm. She stood tall and glared down at him.

"You have no father while you are in the master's care!" She softly, yet with strong aggression, replied. She wasn't very strong, being a young Sangheili male didn't mean he was weak; he simply brushed off the sting in his mandible. He was tempted to growl at her, but one beating was enough for the day. Master; that was what she had called the elder of the training camp, but he didn't understand why.

She turned and began to walk away, motioning for him to follow. "You are nothing but an unskilled child, living off of your family's name. You have only been here for two weeks, but soon you will understand that it takes more than your family name and wealth to make you better than any Sangheili. The master informed me that he felt your lower back rib give under his weight. Come with me to the medical tent, and I'll heal you."

They entered the tent and the child was directed to a back cot. Several females were examining the older trainees that had been injured during training, the moan of pain seemed to be constant. The young child lay on his stomach and folded his arms under his chin while the nurse examined his back. She pulled up his shirt, and quickly noticed the massive bruise from the masters hoof print. She snickered softly to herself, the brat got what he deserved.

"May ask a question?" He cautiously asked.

She placed a small metal disk upon his back and attached it to another device. "I assume I can permit it, granted nothing insulting parts your teeth."

"Why do you call the elder trainer, Master? Are you his slave?"

She powered on the device, and sent several low voltage jolts of electricity and a strange healing agent into the broken bone. The sensation was tolerable. "This will need to run for several units, but when it is complete you will be able to train with mild discomfort. As for your question, young one, I address him as Master because he owns this land, and the facility. Thanks to him, I was able to have a purpose and a loving mate. I am in his services until I am no longer needed."

"But he has no name… no title. How can he have so much?" The child brought up good questions, typical of his upbringing and family line.

"You are too smart for your own good." She smirked. "When the time to know the truth comes, the master will tell you, but until then you will have to wait."

The tent door parted and the elder and three older students strode down the central hall of the massive medical tent. All eyes turned to him. The females bowed respectfully at his presence and the young trainees stood at attention; though minding their injuries.

The nurse turned to the young boy and pushed him to his feet; leaving the device connected to his back. She bowed swiftly, and the young Sangheili watched her. He followed suit; stood tall, chest out, hands at his side, and eyes straight ahead at full attention.

The elder stood before him and huffed, "How bad are his injuries?"

"Two units and he will be ready to return to training, Master."

"See to it that he is. He has already missed several important teaching sermons." He huffed deeply one last time, directed directly at the young child. He then spun on his back hoof and began to exit the tent; the three older trainees followed closely behind.

The atmosphere in the tent returned to normal as everyone looked to the young child that the Master had just approached. The nurse at his side smirked with her two left mandibles and looked at the young Sangheili male closely.

"He certainly has taken a liking to you. In all my years I have rarely seen him check up on a wounded youngling." She pushed him back onto the cot and examined the healing system; technology that she barely understood, but had trained thoroughly in using it.

"What do you mean?"

"Rest while you can young one. The master is determined to teach you discipline and respect." She softly whispered as she began to walk away from his cot. "I will return shortly."

- - - - - - - -

The air within his cloak was beginning to cool, a clear signal that the sun was setting. The harsh desert heat was about to become a cold wasteland of silence. He stood from his short nap and brushed the memory of his youth away. His life at the elders training camp was hard, he never thought he would survive it, but he did. He was finally accepted into the Academy like so many of his Sangheili brethren. But the life of a Warrior was not what he wanted. He didn't want to go to the Academy and learn military discipline, the code of conduct, the history of the Prophets and to meet the other members of the Covenant. That wasn't what he wanted.

He ran away.

He stood and pulled the hood from his head. He watched as the sun slowly fell in the distance and he began to walk. But he suddenly found himself stumbling forward, his body jolted from an aggressive shove. He rolled forward, twisted his hips and angled himself so that he could see what or who was behind him.

"Master?" His young eyes quivered in shame as he slowly stood to his feet. "Where did you…"

"They told me that you did not show up for the first day." He gruffly stated. "And of all places to run to and hide, you chose this hellish place."

"Master, I…"

"Enough! I gave you three years of training, and this is how you accept my gift? You coward!" The master lunged with an overhand punch. Though exhausted, the young Sangheili dodged it effortlessly. "You were the best to come out of my camp in many years! And then you humiliate me by fleeing the Academy… running from your duty!"

"Master, I have no desire to serve the Prophets!"

"Who cares about the Hierarchs? The Academy is all we have as a race, the only thing we have that survived our absorption into the Covenant. It is our tradition!" The master motioned towards him again, but he backed away. His legs grew weak, and he stumbled under his own weight. The master punched, but the young Sangheili blocked it. Another swing came, and he dodged it. He then gripped the master in a headlock and held him at bay. He was tired, and could no longer avoid the masters incredible speed and strength.

"Release me!" The master demanded with a high deafening scowl.

"Master, you can't make me go back!" He released the elder and backed away. He hoped it was over, as he had spent the last of his energy on the desperation move. He fell to his knees and huffed. Three days of walking in the baking desert had finally caught up to him.

"Do not be like me." The master stated softly. "Do not follow my path."

He glared at the master's back and questioned, "What do you mean?"

"You asked me, last week you asked me. At your final day at my camp, you asked me…"

"I asked you why it was that a Sangheili warrior with such respect and honor as you, walks amongst us without a name."

The master turned and looked into his eyes. "Because young one, I did what you are about to do now. I ran away. I turned my back on everything. I swore myself to never follow the teachings of the Prophets… the Hierarchs. But I was wrong. I can not do anything for my kin as an outcast. My family lineage was ripped from me, and my heritage lost. After sixty years of wondering the world alone, I finally decided to do my part. I trained, I trained alone and against nature. I sparred against random travelers for sport. And soon, I became infamous as a warrior that could test any Sangheili's skill. They came in search of me, and I defeated the best Warriors in the Covenant Fleet. There was no one who could stop me in my youth. For a hundred years I fought and bested any opponent, and learned from each victory. But then a young child came to me, a child that hated his family and the teachings of his superiors. I trained him, taught him honor and respect. And then I saw my calling. I began to plant the seed within those who felt what I did, but I made them go back. I made them enter the Academy and serve."

"Master… " The young Sangheili questioned.

"Only two children have ever bested me upon their graduation from my camp. You are the third. You are only twelve years old, a mere child in a Sangheili's eye. You have become a true warrior worthy of legend; yet you have decided to turn your back on it all."

"Master, I can not serve under the Prophets command. There is something… Something I can not see that tells me to be cautious."

"So many others have told me the same thing." The master pressed several keystrokes on his wrist pad, and a small vehicle began to speed toward them. It was boxed shaped and colored with a dark metal purple, yet floated like the new military vehicles that he had seen on display in the cities; ghosts. "I will be leaving you here, or taking you with me. The choice is yours."

"Master, why? Order me to enter the Academy and I will obey your every word. But on my own accord I will not join. For what reason should I follow the Prophets and their gods?" The vehicle stopped at the Master's side and the side door opened. The nurse that had bandaged his wounds over the last three years stepped out followed by her mate, a large male Soldier that the young Sangheili had never met.

"Because the only way to protect our people is to be inside the Covenant. To climb the structure of ranks that the Prophets have created, and watch them. Your father was honorable enough to earn a seat upon the High Council of Elites, and there he could make a difference."

The young Sangheili thought upon the words of his Master. He was right, running would not help him avoid conflict, and though he had no desire of being a warrior, he was naturally good at it. He stood and faced his master, the nurse and her mate. He then looked toward the setting sun.

The nurse voiced, "If you wish to follow that sun, then none of us will stop you. I will give you three hydrators, which should help you finish your journey. The choice is yours young one."

The master then added, "All of your training, all of your skill, all that you have learned from me… will you throw it away, or will you harness it? You said that something is telling you to be cautious of them. If the time comes, where would you rather be; far away from them, or standing at their throats with your blade ready to spill their blood?"

The nurse stepped from the vehicle and placed three hydrator masks into the young Sangheili's hands. "On your final day at our camp, the master honored you with your military name. It was a proud day for everyone in your class. If you follow the sun, you must part with that name. What will be your choice -- Simyaldee?"

_To be continued_

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**NOTES: This is the last Side Triliogy back story before book 3... enjoy while it lasts. Feedback greatly appreciated.  
Soulguard**


	2. Two Warriors, One Bond

**Section 2: Two Warriors, One Bond**

"These cursed creatures have no sense of normal combat!" Roared the Ship Master of the Covenant frigate, _Defiant Goddess_. "Raise shields and return fire!"

"Weapons are off line! Shields down to ten percent!" The Sangheili franticly searched the control panel.

"By the Gods." The Ship Master frowned as he gazed at the central display. "Though they lack starships, they can fly in space as if it were natural to them. Their numbers are overwhelming us, and they are dropping some form of weapon upon our ships. Communications, send word to the fleet; the Yanme'e are somewhat more formidable than we first predicted. Their attack methods are unpredictable. Record and send as much video data as you can."

"Yes sir!"

"Prepare the landing assault teams. If we can not defeat them in space combat, than let us defeat them on the ground!"

"Sir, shields are down! The Yanme'e are boarding!"

"The fools!" The ship master smirked, pleased with the knowledge that the insect like creatures were attempting to invade his ship. He gripped his energy sword and powered it to life. A cold hiss of static filled the air near his hand, and the weight of the sword presented itself to the command crew. They all growled with anticipation. "They would dare to face us head on? Order all squads to resist these creatures and show them no mercy. Let us show them the pride of our race!"

"Sir, transmission has been sent to the Fleet."

"Very well. Arm yourselves and defend this deck. Sound the alarms! Let us feel combat upon our hands!" The command crew roared in approval, as plasma bolts began to ring out around the ship.

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"   
Home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
Sangheili Academy of the Watchmen: Branch 741B  
January 10, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

One hundred young warriors stood deep within the academy's central hall. The graduation ceremony was well underway. The room's massive ceiling climbed high to a central point, where a ray of light split into twenty focusing beams. The lights shined upon the standing spot of twenty silver armored elites, standing upon the edge of the room and encircling the young graduating students. These standing elites were the local branch of the Elite High Council, and their presence was awe inspiring. With a glistening sparkle the High Councilors stood motionless, with their helmet's of honor sitting high upon their heads. They represented the core of the Sangheili ways, the most honored of their race, and their display was humbling, to say the least.

One councilor stood at the head of the room, and continued his speech in honor of those selected of fully entering the Covenant's embrace. "Competition, honor, respect and discipline; these are the things that you have all mastered here in your last term. The Academy has instructed you, our honored graduating class, on the importance of fleet discipline, command, conquest, and leadership. You select Sangheili Warriors have shown mastery of combat, strategy, weapons and vehicle operations. You few who have been chosen to serve in the "_Fleet of Divine Light_", will show all creatures of this Covenant, the true meaning of Honor, Pride, and Penitence to the Hierarchs and our beloved High Council. Take pride in your oaths to the Covenant, and stand tall with each of our members, as we honor our Writ of Union;

"_So full of hate were our eyes  
that none of us could see.  
Our war would yield countless dead,  
but never victory."_

"_So let us cast arms aside,  
and like discard our wrath.  
Thou, in faith, will keep us safe,  
whilst we find the path."_

Each of the hundred Sangheili graduates dropped to one knee upon completing the oath. They lowered their heads as the High Councilors stepped away from their positions and exited the central hall.

"Stand warriors, you are Watchmen no longer. Welcome, to _The Fleet of Divine Light_." The councilor who had led the ceremony stepped away from his light and also exited the room. The central light powered down, as the natural ambiance lights began to power up. A Sangheili clad in Gold armor and red cloak stepped forward from head of the knelt young Warriors.

"Rise my Warriors!" he stated to the crowd. Each of the young soldiers stood quickly and at full attention. Their eyes focused upon the Supreme Commander of the _Fleet of Divine Light_. "Your Academy days have now passed you. Each of you will receive your duty commands and report to your ships without delay. We are to exit system within the hour and rendezvous with the Prophet of Mercy's battle group. Your ranking officer will give you further details. Dismissed!"

With a heavy sigh, Simyaldee quickly followed his line from the room. His service to the Prophets had begun but no matter, he knew his true legion was to his brothers in Arms; Prophet's will be damned before their safety. His line of ten warriors would be stationed soon, and that ship would become his new home. No longer would he be able to spar with his kin on the majestic fields of this conquered world. No longer would he feel the soil beneath his feet. This was a soldier's life: a warrior's calling.

He hated it completely.

"Squad leader, Simyaldee!" Shouted a Sangheili field master; his red armor nearly blending in with the walls of the Academy.

Simyaldee jumped ahead of his squad of ten soldiers and approached the field master. His blue armor was indistinguishable from the other warriors under his watchful eye. He nodded as he approached the field master and waited for orders.

"You and your squad are stationed upon the _Knight and Piercing Arrow_. The Ship Master requested your squad, personally. Report to landing zone ten for your transport." With a swift nod the field master motioned for Simyaldee and to push on.

Simyaldee turned to his squad and barked order, "Let us depart! Maintain formation. Timnaldee, notify our Unggoy and Kig-Yar support teams of our ship."

"Should we not leave them here? More Unggoy can be reassigned…" Timnaldee voiced, but Simyaldee's reproach was quick and silent. "Understood." Timnaldee turned and sprinted toward the grunt camps.

"Make no delay! Our ship master awaits!" The squad fell in line and sprinted toward the landing docks. As they exited the building the suns rays swept across them. They looked to the sky as hundreds upon hundreds of drop ships were descending into the atmosphere, preparing to return everyone to the ship, yet in the distance were dozens of capital ships, using their gravity lifts to pick up supplies and warriors. Ahead of them were countless Sangheili squads; new graduates from earlier ceremonies and experienced war veterans. During the graduation ceremonies, it was customary for ship masters to allow 'shore leave' to their soldiers. It was the one time during the year that ships were permitted to return to Sangheili space, though only to stock up on supplies and soldiers. Also amongst the drove of soldiers were Unggoy packs, Kig-Yar, and Lekgolo pairs. The fleet was about to become mobile once again.

Simyaldee and his squad were amongst a graduating class of nearly two hundred thousand Sangheili, from academies from all corners of Sangheili controlled space. The Sangheili were the pride of the Covenant Armada, and replenishing their ranks was mandatory to victory. The city where they held their Academy was upon a remote world at the Edge of their space, and filled with countless bustling cities. Though today, the city was a stampeded of activity. The massive towers in the distance floated the colors of their Sangheili home, Dorenth, but now was not the time for celebration. The fleet was being summoned by Mercy, one of the mighty Hierarchs of the Covenant. Something was happening and the fleet was being assembled.

The squad arrived at their landing zone and patiently awaited their turn to disembark. Several hundred Sangheili veterans stood ahead of them, all bound for the _Knight and Piercing Arrow_. After several minutes of waiting, Simyaldee took notice that several Cruisers and Capital ships had begun to left off in the distance. He then pondered why the Knight and Piercing Arrow had not descended into the atmosphere to pick up it's crew the way the other ships had.

He approached a senior warrior in the line ahead of him, "Sir. Permission to speak?"

The aged vet in red armor turned his head slightly to face Simyaldee. "What is it young one?"

"Other ships descended to pick up its crew. Why is our ship only sending drop ships?"

The vet turned fully and stood at perfect attention before Simyaldee. "Name and rank!"

"Sir! Simyaldee; squad team leader of squad Minor Omega 419!"

"Fresh from the academy, I see." The vet stated. "Congratulations minors. Let me see, Minor Omega 419… sounds familiar. You will most likely fall under my regiment once we board ship, but that is of no concern now. Were you not made aware of our ship's purpose?"

"No sir." Simyaldee replied. "We were not advised on any details."

"Sloppy." The vet rubbed his helmet with a sense of disbelief. "_The Knight and Piercing Arrow_ is the command ship for the _Fleet of Divine Light_. I'm sure you understand now."

Simyaldee was taken back for a moment, and his squad also understood. "Yes sir, fully. The command ship will hold position until the fleet is prepared to disembark." It was basic Covenant protocol for fleet formation and docking procedures, but still, to be stationed on board the fleet command ship was an honor bestowed only to the best of the graduating class. The most skilled Sangheili, trusted Unggoy, battle ready Kig-Yar, and loyalist of the Lekgolo served on command ships. In their haste to move the fleet, Simyaldee and his squad had not been informed of their station's importance.

The crowd behind Simyaldee's squad began to part as several High Councilors made their way toward the landing deck. Simyaldee motioned for his squad to step aside; the vet stood with them. Following the Councilors was the cloak bearing gold Sangheili warrior, the Supreme Commander of the Fleet, following him were several black armored Warriors. Simyaldee recognized them as the Special Operations; they had the reputation as the best of the Sangheili warriors and given missions of high importance. There were eight of them in total, marching two by two behind the Supreme Commander however there was one last warrior that followed them. He walked alone, with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were ever watchful of the crowd of Sangheili warriors that he passed, and as he walked behind the formation of Spec-Ops, those that he passed began to mumble.

His armor was pearly white, as if he had yet to see any combat, but surely in order to follow the progression of the Elders, Supreme Commander and the Spec-Ops, he would have to be a soldier of high rank; he had to have seen combat.

The progression passed Simyaldee and his squad by, and the vet turned to face Simyaldee. "That was the newest elected Special Operations Commander. He's young, but fiercely skilled. I would imagine that he is no older than you are, young one."

Simyaldee looked to the vet in awe. "To achieve the rank of commander of all Special Operations at my age, it is unheard of!" Simyaldee snapped. "How is such a task achieved?"

"Simple. Upon graduation from the Academy the High Council granted him a task. He was given a Spec-Ops squad and he was the only to return. He completed the assignment, and was promoted to the Spec-Ops. However, there were those that doubted his skill. The former Commander challenged him to a duel, to see if he was worthy of carrying the title of Special Operations. Not only did he prove his worth, but he defeated the former Commander with little effort. The council instantly voted him as the new Commander."

"Who is he?" Simyaldee questioned with a curious glare; starring into the back of the white armored Sangheili that walked away from him.

"Special Operations Commander, Rtas Vadumee."

- - - - - - - -

"Upon rendezvous with the Hierarch's battle group, _The Fleet of Particular Justice_, my fleet will assume the rear command and begin cleansing the world of its putrid inhabitants." The Supreme Commander stated from the command deck of _the Knight and Piercing Arrow_. He turned to the ship master and nodded sharply. "Move the fleet into position, and prepare to enter slip space. Set best speed to _High Charity_."

"Yes, Supreme Commander." The Ship Master bowed and turned to his command crew.

With over two hundred ships orbiting the tiny world below_, the Knight and Piercing Arrow_ pulled ahead of _the Fleet of Divine Light_ and entered a ripple in space. The ship slowly slid into the wave of light which was distorting space ahead of it, and vanished in a soft flash of pure light. Behind them followed the fleet, and each ship repeating the steps of monstrously large command ship.

The _Knight and Piercing Arrow_ was nearly double the size of standard Capital ships, and was undoubtedly the prize of the Sangheili fleet. And deep in its hull sat the young Sangheili Minor Squad leader and his fresh from the Academy squad. They, along with several Unggoy, Lekgolo and Keg-Yar, made their way to their stations.

Because they were new to the ship, it meant that they would be assigned the lowest of duties. Simyaldee was assigned to patrol duties for the ship portside landing bay. Upon entering the massive landing deck, Simyaldee froze.

Timnaldee, the squads second, stepped forward. "Six decks of Seraph, Phantom and Insertion troop transports. The command ship is surely monstrous!"

"Yes, brother, it is quite the eyeful." Simyaldee returned. He turned to his squad and began to bark orders. "You all have your assignments and squad designations. Take your teams and get to work. Our shift is ten units."

"Yes everyone, do try to keep you Unggoy's from sleeping too much." Timnaldee laughed as several of his squad mates chuckled in return. Oddly, the grunts behind them did not find it so amusing, but they dared not voice their displeasure.

"Pack B, to the top deck." Timnaldee ordered as pushed toward the cowering Unggoy. The tiny five foot 'grunts' parted from his path and eyed him cautiously. Timnaldee had no care for the methane breathers, but understood their purpose. His father was a field master during the great Unggoy uprising, and was swarmed by dozens of the useless creatures in the final days of the revolt. Upon entering the Academy, and learning of the uprising and his father's fate, Timnaldee began to detest the creatures. He often kicked them out of spite.

Simyaldee watched as his friend throughout their Academy years parted the doors to the ramps, he then watched as the other members of his squad lead their teams of grunts and 'jackals' toward their assigned patrol zones.

"Team A, let us depart." Simyaldee ordered. A ten unit shift lay ahead, and Simyaldee could already see the exhausted disposition of the grunts behind him. It was going to be a long journey to _High Charity._

High overhead, on the second deck of the landing bay watched two Spec-Ops Sangheili Warriors. One of the 'elites' bore the standard black armor while the other wore white the white of the Special Operation's Commander, Vadumee.

"He is the one, Commander."

Commander Vadumee glanced strongly toward Simyaldee's every move. "You were right, Belmaedee. There is something special about him. Has his file been altered?"

"Yes, as per your orders." Belmaedee glanced toward the Commander. "All evidence of his training with the Master has been erased. Do you think he will accept?"

"We will find out soon enough. I must now report to the Supreme Commander about our Spec-Ops ground operations once we arrive at the Yanme'e nest. Once I leave _High Charity_ the remainder of this task will be left up to you."

"As you wish, commander." Belmaedee bowed respectfully. "I wish it were possible that I join you on the battlefield against the Yanme'e…"

"As do I, Belmaedee, but this task must be fulfilled. The High Council expects great things from that warrior, and they say he followed in our footsteps."

Belmaedee chuckled softly, "I bet the master was not pleased."

"His pride would not let him." The commander returned. "Good luck to you, Belmaedee. Summon me if there are any complications. However, once _the Fleet of Divine Light _leaves _High Charity_, you will be on your own." The commander turned and walked toward the nearest exit. "I have a war to win."

"Go with honor, commander. Fight well." The door parted and the Commander was greeted by two Spec-Ops elites. They instantly turned and followed their leader and vanished into the depths of the ships corridors. Belmaedee returned his glare back toward Simyaldee, two decks bellow. "Unfortunately young one, your days of a normal soldier are slowly coming to a close."

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
February 30, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

The towering hologram of a Prophet continued its sermon, its words being spread throughout all of the Covenant ships. Every creature's eyes glared to it for understanding, and leadership.

"_With a strong wind we have been delivered to this, the edge of yet another of our Gods creations. But these creatures, these Yanme'e, have again slowed our path. We, with humility and patients, have summoned their loyalty to join our crusade, yet they show no regard for our Gods or their holy relics. _

"_We stand at the forefront again, of another wondrous discovery, only to be impeded by those who do not understand its reverence. Have we not brought civility to the Unggoy, free will to the Kig-Yar, and discipline to the Sangheili? Have we not marched across the stars and united billions to their true meaning? So once again, it is time. Time for us to take up arms, time for us to bring a purpose to those who would resist the will of our Gods and this Covenant, and it is time for us to claim another of the Sacred Relics left to us by our Gods. Will we stand by and let those who oppose our great Covenant, disgrace our ancient and most holy of Relics?_

"_No one has ever withstood our might! No one has ever stopped us from claiming the artifacts of our Gods! No one will ever delay our Great Journey! By the will of the Gods, let us march upon the Yanme'e! Let them fear what our Gods have assembled! Let them know the true might of our Covenant! Lest they join us, let them feel our power!"_

A roar of applauds erupted through out the armada as the High Prophet of Mercy held his frail arms into the air. With his graying skin and flicks of hair, he showed all eyes his age and wisdom.

From his floating throne he extended his arms and prepared to make his final statement. "_To the stars, our mighty Fleet of Divine Light shall travel. Those who oppose our cause, await you."_ The hologram faded and everyone began to return to their duties, except those aboard a tiny Phantom which made its course to the outer docking ring of High Charity.

"Timnaldee, be sure to protect the squad. I am sorry that I can not go with you on this battle." Simyaldee stated as he stood above the Phantom's gravity lift.

"I do not understand why you can not come with us, Simyladee. But if the High Council has summoned you then it must be important. May the Gods watch over you."

"And you. I hope to here of your glorious battle when you return." The gravity lift shined with a hazy purple flare and Simyaldee was lowered to the docking ring deck below. He looked up as the phantom turned and sped back toward the exit portals of _High Charity_ and into space. He gazed over the vastness of the inner cities of _High Charity_, and the massive Forerunner vessel at the center of the city. Simyaldee thought to himself that perhaps there was a reason to listen to the Prophets' teachings. Such a structure, the massiveness in its size and design, could only be achieved by beings far greater than the Sangheili could imagine. Perhaps the Gods of the Prophet's were real. For the first time Simyaldee was beginning to doubt his hatred of the Prophets, and even why he did not trust them. Perhaps the Relics, ships, miracles, and wisdom of the Gods were real. Maybe there was something to be learned of the Great Journey. Flashes of light began to appear beyond the distant view ports, and Simyaldee ignored his inner thoughts.

_The Fleet of Divine Light_ was making slip space exit operations to travel to the Yanme'es' home, and Simyaldee hated to be left behind while his classmates and squad went to battle without him. The call to battle was not overwhelmingly strong, but the call to fight with his long time friends was. He felt no honor in being ordered to stay behind while his team, his squad, was sent to the front line. Yet the story of the Spec Ops Commander began to ring in his ears. The Commander had endured a similar a fate, being summoned by the High Council. Simyaldee thought that perhaps his fate would be the same. Simyaldee chuckled to himself at the thought, for allowing himself to think that his skill could be compared to the Commander's. Though they were close to the same age, it was not something to compare.

Rtas Vadumee came from an excellent line of warriors. The 'dum' clan was legendary, and each of them left their mark upon the Sangheili history books. No, there would be no comparison; Simyaldee knew this to be true.

He averted his eyes from the massive pearly-white Forerunner object at _High Charity's _heart, turned and walked away from the dock and watched as a much older Sangheili walked his way. He was clearly a vet, and a Spec Ops.

"My name is Belmaedee, Spec Ops squad Alpha, Team One. Are you Rin Simyladee?"

"Yes sir!" Simyaldee snapped to attention. "Squad Leader of Minor Omega 419!"

"There is much we must discuss, young one. But this is not the place. The High Council would like to meet with you. Come with me."

"Sir… may I ask why the Council summoned me on the eve of battle? My squad…"

"Your squad?" Belmaedee questioned. "Which is more important: the will of the Prophets, or the support of your Sqaud?"

Simyaldee paused in thought and nervously replied, "As a unit, my squad is my responsibility. We served well together, and if anything were to happen to them because of my absence…"

"Are you saying that your squad is more important than the will of the Prophets?"

Nervously Simyaldee backed away. "No sir, it is just that my squad functions…"

"Calm yourself, young one." Belmaedee smirked. He placed a hand on Simyaldee's shoulder to reassure him. "I know you have no favoritism in the Hierarchs. For now, let us not speak of anything further until we reach our destination. From today on, I assure you, your life will change."

_**To be continued**_

* * *

_**Notes: Thanks for the feedback. The "Divine" error has been corrected, thanks.  
Things are going to pick up in Section 3, while section 4 will be quite adventurous for you thrill seekers. Thanks for all the support, and if you see something that stands out the way "Divine" did feel free to PM me. Thanks again. Reviews and critiques are always welcome.  
-soulguard  
**_


	3. Three Hours, One Assault

**Section 3: Three Hours, One Assault**

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"  
_High Charity_  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 1, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

Truth descended from his observation lounge, deep from within the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. The dimly lit room with its monstrous pillars of light, casting an eerie glow, was the main chambers for Truth, Mercy and Regret; the Holy Prophets that led the Covenant on its religious crusade. Though frail in appearance, the Prophets were much larger up close then they appeared. Their serpent like necks extended their height to nearly eight feet tall, but their hunched bodies were only a reflection of their true size. No longer able to support their own bodies, the Prophets rely heavily upon the technology left by their former masters, the Forerunners, to move about their vast kingdom.

With a heavy sigh Truth floated to the far side of the room and gazed out at the depth of space, into the vastness of his Armada. He placed a frail hand to his temple in thought. "For countless cycles the Yanme'e built our ships, we need them if we are to increase our Armada. But their Queen will need to be dealt with."

Truth turned to face the ageing prophet at his side. "Mercy, did we not agree that we would reveal the Jiralhanae to the Covenant, and let them lead this assault?"

Mercy turned and faced his comrade. "The Jiralhanae have yet to show the proper respect that is deserving of such a conquest. Our emissaries have not sent word of their acceptance. Retrieving this artifact is of the utmost importance. With the Elites, we will have nothing to fear."

"Dear brother, we have nothing to fear of the Yanme'e… those 'drones' have no intelligence or combat ability. They follow a simple hive mentality; kill their queen and they too shall fall. I wanted the Jiralhanae to handle this, as I felt it would be excellent bate to bring them within our fold. The Jiralhanae crave battle, more so than the Sangheili, this battle could have been an excellent tool to show them the ferocity of the Covenant. Their Chieftain would not have hesitated to join us."

Mercy pondered, "You are correct. Perhaps it was a rash decision to unleash the Sangheili. But perhaps now will be the time to begin our plans. With the Sangheili focusing their attention toward the drones, perhaps now we can begin our migration plans. We can convince the Jiralhanae to join us, and then…"

"Hold your tongue, Mercy." Truth looked to the doors of the Sanctum. With a slow gesture to his armrest he sealed the doors tight via a remote. "These halls have ears. We may now speak without fear."

Mercy nodded. "Yes. The suspicion of the Sangheili grows with every passing moment."

"It will not be long before the …'Elites' and their High Council begin to question the artifacts that we have discovered. For now they follow, but they will not follow blindly forever. Hopefully the artifact within the nest of the Yanme'e will convince them to trust us. However we are not sure if the Yanme'e nest installation contains the star maps we need. We should not concern ourselves with the migration plans just yet. Without Halo, our plans are for naught."

"How much longer must we wait?" Mercy spat. "We have searched, conquered and destroyed for thousands of years… and with each generation we become weaker…"

"Be still, Mercy. We have waited this long, and we can wait longer. When we find Halo, all will be revealed to us, and the migration will begin. Our only concern now is the Elites."

A hologram appeared in the center of the room, the image of Regret. "I have emptied my chamber of my guards to ensure that I can speak freely."

"Speak, Regret. How goes the battle?" Truth returned to Regret's image.

"Unimportant. As you believed, the Yanme'e will not be difficult to defeat. But, I must question why the Elites are here? Have we not joined with the Jiralhanae?"

Mercy approached the hologram. "No need to concern yourself, Regret. It was my error in judgment."

"No matter, conquest is conquest. Though I have no faith in the Elites, they are more skilled in combat. I estimate this battle to end within three unites."

Truth smiled. "A rather bold declaration… Regret."

"Have I ever failed in battle?" Regret smirked. "We have the Yanme'e world surrounded. Even the asteroid field where their nest is located is slowly being overrun. Upon killing their queen, the others will surrender."

"Do not underestimate them, Regret." Truth added. "Even with the Elites, an enemy that is cornered can be difficult to suppress."

Regret laughed softly. "These are Yanme'e; stupid Drones of the Empire. Do not concern yourself. You talk as if these Drones could somehow equal the Reclaimers."

Truth and Mercy scowled at the name. Reclaimers, they were creatures that the Prophets knew all too well. Hate and bitterness filled their eyes as they thought upon them. Things would have progressed much differently had the Reclaimers never existed, but it was no matter, the Reclaimers were gone. They had lost the Reclaimers long ago, after the first firing of Halo, and no longer cared what happened to them. But if they did find them, the Reclaimers, the humans, then they would finish what they had started and destroy their race permanently.

Mercy looked up to Regret with a scowl. "You are too young to remember, but the Reclaimers are not something we wish to discuss."

"I find them interesting." Regret returned in thought. "They led many battles against the flood. The archives of the Forerunners are filled with the Reclaimers' brilliance in battle…"

Truth slapped his palms upon his arm rest, "You will hold your tongue, Regret! Do you not understand that the Reclaimers thwarted our objectives? They are the reason the Forerunners shunned us! They are the reason that we did not sit at the head of the Empire with the Forerunners!"

Mercy then added, "We should have been the next in line to ascend! But let us not grow angry over the past. It has been too long for such memories to stir within us still. Regret, claim the artifact and bring it before us at once! And do not speak of the Reclaimers… EVER!"

Truth interrupted. "Putting this aside, Regret, continue your conquest and report immediately when you have captured the artifact." Regret remained silent and nodded. The hologram faded and Truth returned his gaze to Mercy. "Now, let us move on to another troubling matter. The new Special Operations Commander of the Sangheili, his age brings up concern. Yet his skill is quite lethal."

"Yes, his skill goes beyond the Academy's training. I have begun an -- investigation on his home world. There is rumor amongst the Elites of his village that he was sent to a disciplinary school before he entered the academy."

"The Elites have a disciplinary school?" Truth questioned with a raised brow.

"Yes, more secrets that they are keeping from us. And more proof that we should be rid of them."

"Indeed. They are growing more and more suspicious. How much information have you gathered?"

"Several elites graciously parted ways with information." Mercy chuckled. "But no one will identify the schools location or trainers. My teams are still performing routine checks and interrogation. We will know everything before long."

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"_  
The Fleet of Divine Light _  
Yanme'e Territory  
March 1, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

Through the darkness of space surged dozens of Phantoms, Seraph fighters, and escort drop ships. The fleet had unleashed their landing parties upon the nest of the Yanme'e. It was here that the 'Drones' bred their young, and it was the most logical location to begin searching for their queen. The Elites had formulated a brilliant strategy, but beyond conquering the Yanme'e they also had to find their prize; the Forerunner Artifact.

"Drop ships seven through twenty, make landing preparations. Phantoms two through ten, approach on vector seven-nine-one, mark-eight." The sound of the Commander echoed throughout the infantry ships communications uplinks. The ground assault was underway. "Field commanders, the infantry is now in your hands. The Spec-Ops will now begin our operations." He turned off the communications and nodded toward the pilot. On cue the phantom turned off from the formation and sped toward a larger asteroid; six phantoms fell in line behind them.

The 'Drones' world was a small moon in orbit of a gas giant. The nest, as it had been dubbed, was an orbital formation of asteroids that floated majestically above the moon world. The Drones lacked interstellar ships, and relied heavily on their own flying abilities. The gravity of the moon was only half the gravity of normal inhabitable worlds, and thus allowed the Drones to fly into space with little effort. Attacking the Drones home planet was ill-advised, but luckily the majority of the Drones population lived upon the asteroid belt; including the queen. But locating the artifact was the spec-ops assignment.

"Commander, teams one through six have landed and begun operations. We are ready to descend."

"Take us in." The commander barked. He turned and walked to the holding bay of troops. Six grunts lined the center of the phantom transport bay with four elites posted upon the side walls. They all wore the black armor of the Special Ops, and were eager to face combat as it had been many years sense the Covenant had found an artifact of the Gods.

He approached them all, pacing through the bay. "Our target is simple. Find the artifact and kill anything that impedes our path. Standard formation and light weapons. You have all been briefed and failure is not an option."

The communication officer signed in, "Commander, incoming communication from the Supreme Commander, it is encrypted for you only."

"Patch it through." The Commander placed his hand to his helmet and listened closely to the private transmission in his helmet's communications link.

_"Commander Vadumee, the High Council has adjourned. The vote was cast and they say that you were correct. I do not understand what this means. What is the significance of this young Sangheili, Simyaldee? They want to assign him to your Spe-Ops division immediately. Is there something I need to be made aware of, Commander? Since when did the High Council begin voting upon members of the Spec-Ops? This is my fleet, Commander. I will not be left in the dark!"_

The Commander smiled softly and replied. "Communications, encrypt this transmission and relay it to the Supreme Commander of the fleet. 'Supreme Commander, the Spec-Ops division has been assigned another rare opportunity. Young Simyaldee is needed. Unfortunately I can not discuss this mission with you. Please speak with the High Council and they will brief you on the details.' Send."

Commander Vadumee clasped his hands behind his back and smirked. Another member had been found. It had taken the council hundreds of years to find them, but now they could begin. For too long the Hierarchs had been manipulating the actions of the Elites; killing Elite Council Members and causing disputes against neighboring species. The actions of the Hierarchs needed to be watched, for the benefit of all Elites, and they had to work in the shadows and be unknown to anyone.

The Mirratord was now complete.

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"_  
High Charity_  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 1, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

Many years had passed since Simyaldee completed the Cave of the Prospect, in the deep caverns of the Elite Inner Sanctum, but oddly this made him feel more honored than that glorious day. The High Council had granted him a title unlike anything he could dream, but his title would not be approved until the Spec Ops Commander had returned. He swore to secrecy, to never reveal the details of what had just happened to him, to hold on to the honor that he had just been given. This new group, this Mirratord, was everything he was hoping to find within his lifetime.

They existed only to serve the Elite High Council.  
They followed an oath of Secrecy.  
They worked in the shadows to protect the Sangheili way of life.

The Mirratord. They existed, but they did not exist, and his first mission had already been given to him. Over the past several hours, Simyaldee had been tested and drilled on what the core of the Mirratord was based, and how horrible some of his missions would be. But he was reaffirmed that the Mirratord was the wall that separated the Sangheili from the Covenant; because the Prophets could not control them. This was what he wanted, to watch the Prophets and be the first to kill them if they dared to harm his kin.

Belmaedee approached, "Welcome brother. Are you ready to fulfill your first duty?"

"I am." Simyaldee softly stated.

"Our goal is simple, yet failure is not an option. Upon failure, we will be on our own. The High Council can do nothing to reveal themselves as being connected to us in anyway. We must not speak of the Mirratord, even in torture; revealing anything could endanger all of our kin."

"I do not fear pain, or death. I would never betray my oath to the Mirratord."

Belmaedee handed Simyaldee a small digital pad, with Sangheili language written upon it. "Excellent. Read this to yourself. Once you have memorized it, destroy it."

_"If you are reading this, than you have accepted this assignment. It has been rumored that one of our aged Sangheili trainers has been kidnapped by the prophets. They grow ever more cautious of us, and have begun kidnapping random individuals and questioning their loyalties. Though we can not help normal citizens, we must not let the Sangheili trainer be held for long. He knows many things about the inner workings of the High Council and our plans. If he can not be rescued, than he must be ..." _

Simyaldee stopped reading. "No, this can not be right."

"It is young one. We must protect the high council, even if it means killing our own."

"Then why do we not stop the prophets themselves. Let us lay waist to them…"

"Speak softly!" Belmaedee looked around, cautiously making sure that they weren't being overheard. "Killing one prophet is possible, but there are dozens of them involved with these kidnappings. If several prophets were killed then trouble could spread to our home world. We can not let them retaliate against our civilians. Already the Prophets have begun ordering our colonies to being moving civilians back to Dorenth, yet they have not given the High Council a reason why."

Simyaldee lowered his head and dropped the digital pad. He crushed it beneath his feet and swept the debris off the edge of the deck, into the sky of _High Charity's_ interior.

"I only hope that rescue is possible." Simyaldee whispered. They turned and boarded a nearby phantom. "What is our destination?"

"The land you once called home." Belmaedee said. Simyaldee sat at Belmaedee's side as the phantom powered up, and took flight to a small frigate in orbit around _High Carity._ "The ship master here is young, but trustworthy. We have several Mirratord warriors stationed as Ship Master's around the fleet. It allows us control of a ship without question."

After several minutes of walking the long corridors of the small frigate, Simyaldee and Belmaedee arrived at the ships command deck. They stepped slowly on to through the sliding door as the Ship Master continued to scream at the image of Jackal.

"Damn you and the protocols! I have orders from the High Council, and that supersedes our station!"

The Jackal lowered in fright, speaking in his native tongue, "You have not been granted permission to disembark, and I can not allow you to go. No ships are to break formation at this time. Forgive me but it is the will of the Hierarchs!"

"Your intelligence pains me! If a member of the High Council gives me an order, and the fleet is in None Combat status, then I have every right to obey. Even you should understand this basic fleet rule!"

The Jackal could sense the anger in the Ship Master's voice, but looked at him in a blank stare as if it were thinking. "Let the Councilman come forward, I need his visual recording as… proof."

The ship master lowered his head in disbelief. He then looked to the side of the command deck as the Councilman stepped forward. His grey armor covered by a dark brown robe, and his ceremonial helmet sitting high atop his brow.

The Jackal looked in disbelief as the ship master asked, "Still have doubts?"

"No, you are clear to depart. Forgive my impudence, but I had to be sure." The screen faded and the ship master roared in frustration.

"Simple, idiotic, mindless creatures! If it were not for the Hierarchs, I swear we had best be rid of them!"

The councilman simply chuckled. "Kig-Yar are not known for their intelligence, Domadree. It is there keen vision that gains them favor from the Hierarchs. For now, let us be on our way. Time is precious."

"Yes elder." Ship Master Domadree replied. He turned and faced the command crew as the elder walked to the rear of the deck; approaching Belmaedee and Simyaldee.

Belmaedee stepped forward. "Elder, this is…"

"Rin Simyaldee." The elder interrupted. "Youngest son of Elder Nora'k Binyalda. Your father was an honorable Councilman, one of the finest. For one hundred years he protected our kin and justly maintained the balance of power inside the Covenant. He will be missed."

Simyaldee nodded with respect. "Indeed. I was but a child when he passed. I was not yet worthy of being called a Watchman."

The Elder paced around Simyaldee. "You had a very troubling youth. You rebelled against the Prophet prefecture in your home village and you were rejected from the academy. Your mother was forced to send you to a discipline school. Finally you learned to come to terms with your hatred and caution of the Prophets. Do you still believe that they killed your father?"

Simyaldee stepped back in shock; he had never revealed that information. It was a pain deep within his heart that he had hidden away, even from his mother. "I do not wish for my own beliefs to interfere with the objective of the group."

The elder scanned the deck to be sure that the command crew could not hear. "The Mirratord has no objective. It simply does what it is told. As for your father… I am sad to say that your fears were correct. The prophets assassinated your father twelve years ago."

Simyaldee stepped back, shock and pain swelled within him, and his mandibles tightly clinched. He ignored everything as his rage began to brew. All these years of doubt and questioning had finally come to focus in one short sentence. Everything he had feared was true. He had known that the prophets could not be trusted, yet he had no proof of the act. His father was alive, healthy and strong, and then slain.

The elder added. "The Hierarchs saw him as a traitor, and he was targeted for assassination by an outcast Sangheili warrior."

These words stood out in Simyaldee's ears. "You mean one of our kin killed my father, because the Prophet's wished it?" His mother had been told that it was a ravaged Elite war veteran that had killed him; saying that the warrior was an outcast and sought illegal combat and thievery to relieve his post war stress. Simyaldee never believed it, never believed that an Elite would kill another, especially if that Warrior was an honorable Elder Council member. It was almost too much to accept.

Belmaedee then commented. "Though he was killed by one of our kin, it was the Prophet's wishes. Some of our kin will forever be servants of the Covenant and do whatever the Hierarchs wish. This is why the Mirratord must act separate of even our own brothers and sisters. No one can be trusted. This is also why we painstakingly searched for new members. Those who believe in our cause, believe in our race, and have a specific gene trait are the only warriors given consideration."

Ship Master Domadree descended to the main floor of the command deck and approached the elder and his Mirratord brothers. "We have just entered slip space. Second, what are our mission preparations?"

"Second?" Simyaldee questioned toward Belmaedee.

Belmaedee returned, "Yes, I am the second in Command of all Mirratord forces, young one. But not for long, as another will come to replace me; only the most skilled of us is worthy to lead." He looked to Domadree. "This will be a stealth mission: field observation, infiltration and rescue. We will delay for six days, and that will remove any connection of our assault with your ship. The High Council has scheduled a meeting to start at the moment of our operations. I will take three warriors on this mission: Myself, M'atralee, and the young one."

"Very well, I will prep all of your supplies." Domadree agreed as he folded his arms across his chest. "Are you sure that the young one is ready for this?"

Belmaedee smirked, "Not including his academy scores, he is quite skilled in stealth and the use of the Energy Sword. He is ready."

Domadree nodded toward Simyaldee, confidently accepting the Second's choice. "I must return to my duties, and there is much that needs to be done before we arrive. Elder?"

"You are dismissed." The elder nodded.

Domadree nodded to the group. "I will not see either of you before you depart, so I must say my farewells now... For the Honor of the Mirratord."

Belmaedaa and Simyaldee both returned, "For the honor of the Mirratord."

- - - - - - - -

Three hours of conflict, battle and war cries. Three hours of sacrifice, pain, and victory. The Elites roared their battle cry as the Yanme'e queen crumbled to her knees. The massive drone queen had killed numerous Elites and Grunts, but in the end victory was assured. Hundreds of drones circled the massive room deep within the asteroid's core and squeaked their concerns. Without a queen, the hive would fall, and none knew when the next queen would be born.

The drones had fought bravely to defend their queen, but with little military training, and only one true leader, the drones could not stop the mighty tidal wave called the Covenant. From all sides and entrances, the elites pushed deeper into the nest and cornered the queen, killing her in a wave of plasma. The mighty 'Hunters' had led the charge, and though they suffered losses, the elites praised their aid. It was a worthy conquest, and the first joint mission with the monstrous Hunters.

"Make way, his Holiness Regret approaches!" A ship master shouted at the top of a rocky gorge overlooking the deep cave of the Queen's chamber. Hundreds of broken larva eggs stained the floor, as well as thousands of dead drones; Regret was thankful for his floating throne. At his side stood twelve honor guards; dawning the ceremonial armor and staffs of the Covenant.

With his arms outstretched he pleaded to the remaining Drones that dumbly floated about, pondering their next action. "Here me Yanme'e, for I am the High Prophet of Regret. With great pain it saddens me to see our dispute come to such a tragic end, but none the less you have been beaten. By the mighty hand of our Covenant, your Queen has fallen, but fear not… for the Gods have shown me a vision of your future. A new queen will rise, she will serve with us and within the Covenant you will know peace! Defeat is but a sign that you are weak, but together with the Covenant, you will be strong. Remember this defeat, hold close to you the death of your Queen, and embrace that it will never happen again. Side with us, and stand as we continue the quest of our Gods. Become our instruments, become our warriors, and look to the future when we begin our Great Journey!"

At the far end of the asteroid field, deep within a secluded cave that had suddenly turned to metal, the Spec-Ops pressed forward against an unseen foe. Streams of energy streaked toward them, cutting down three elites and overloading the shields of others. The mechanical whine of machinery echoed throughout the cave, and Commander Vadumee pressed forward with the agility of a supreme being.

Within his hand he held a carbine rifle, it seemed to be the only weapon precise enough to take down the mechanical devices; so long its shields had diminished. Wave after wave of plasma discharges flew over his head and toward the machines, dropping their shields. Without hesitation the commander stood and fired his carbine, destroying six of them; but ten more took their place.

"Is there no end?" Vadumee roared as he ducked an energy stream. He took cover and reloaded his carbine; ejecting the chamber and slamming in a new one.

"Sir! The grunts are reporting that half our ammunition rounds are gone"

"Blasted, it took three units to simply come this far into the structure. We can not turn back. There must be something…" In the distance Vadumee watched as a large plate upon the wall began to glow, and one of the machines suddenly appeared from within it. "Destroy those devices! They are the source of this infestation!"

The Spec-Ops at the Commander's side turned to the black armored grunts behind him. "We will advance forward and destroy the devices on the wall." The elite and the groups of grunts vanished as their active camouflage systems powered on. They exited their cover, moving cautiously so that the floating machines would not hit them at random; luckily the machines could not see through their cloaking systems. The grunts split up and each gripped plasma grenades. Though nervous about being separated from their packs, the grunts valiantly primed their grenades and flung them upon the Sentinel Generator's on the wall. Dozens of blue plasma grenades dotted the air and the Sentinel's turned to see where they had come from. As they turned, several grunts panicked and fired upon the machines with their needlers and plasma pistols, giving away their positions. Sentinel beams cut into them, overloading their cloaks and killing them. The lucky grunts held their positions in silence.

With the floating machines looking away, the commander stood from cover just as the wall devices exploded. "Now! Take down the machines!" A cascade of plasma explosions echoed as the grenades upon the wall detonated. Surges of electricity sparked from the panels and the onslaught began. The elites began firing in droves of plasma and carbine rounds into the wave of machines. The machines exploded in succession, knocking others out of the air because of the pulse of energy which was released upon their destruction; and fell upon the heads of the grunts below.

The grunts began to frantically run around avoiding the falling debris, screaming nervously for help and to flee. The Commander chuckled at the sight, but regained his composure; he could not let his youthful interest capture his mind in such a way.

"Grunts, calm yourselves!" The base in his voice startled many of the surviving grunts and they began to calm the others down. "Maintain discipline and fire upon the fallen machines before they repair themselves again." Vadumee reloaded his carbine and motioned for the Sergeant to press forward.

With a solid head nod the Sergeant raced ahead, running through the grunts packs. "Form up! Press forward to the next mark!" Vadumee began to walk down the hall as twenty elite Spec-Ops sprinted passed him. He was the commander, and being the first to enter combat would jeopardize his life and command. Though he longed to be the first to enter the room he knew his place; the mission's success was based solely on his leadership. He listened in on the Special Ops com frequency.

"Scout ahead! What do you see?" The Sergeant questioned to another.

"Another open foyer lay ahead. It is a large room… by the Gods, what is that?

"Unknown. I've never seen a structure like it. Grunt teams, cloak and fan out. Secure the room and destroy any of the wall units if you see them."

A grunt pack leader returned. "We secure room. Destroy scary things!" The grunts faded from site and ran into the room with four elites behind them. Commander Vadumee knelt at the door behind the Sergeant.

"Report." He ordered.

"Grunt teams are scanning ahead. We will follow soon. There is something in there, something we have never seen before."

Vadumee leaned into the doorway and saw what the Sergeant was questioning. Indeed this was another Forerunner structure, and inside was a massive computer system. But what caught his eyes was the looming holographic image floating above the computer terminal. It appeared to be a giant structure of some kind, unlike anything the Hierarchs had documented, and it was strange as it appeared to be in the shape of a humongous ring.

_**To be continued**_


	4. The Warrior, The Lie

**NOTE:** Name error; **Belmaedee** is now **Balmaedee**. This is a name that has given me a great deal of problems going as far back as Stand, Five Feet High.

* * *

**Section 4: The Warrior, The Lie**

"The Sixth Age of Doubt_  
Fleet of Divine Light_  
Yanme'e Territory

March 1, 2438 : Sol Relative Time

The echoing halls of the Forerunner structure bewildered all that entered. For several hours the Commander had been sending squads of field commanders and their grunt teams throughout the structure, assuring that none of the other Forerunner instruments were laying in wait. As he examined the massive hologram floating in the central chamber, the main door to the outer area of the structure parted and a lone Honor Guard gracefully walked through.

The Honor Guard stopped just beyond the threshold, and slammed the end of his staff upon the echoing metal floor. All within earshot quickly turned and recognized his presence. The Sangheili warrior scanned the Forerunner room, taking note of everything he could see. His dark red and gold armor was a vast contrast to the armor of the Spec Ops, as they were the only warriors in the central chamber. They all cautiously watched as the Honor Guard curiously looked the room over.

The Spec Ops Sergeant approached Commander Vadumee, and whispered. "It would seem that his Holiness, Regret, is about to enter."

"Of all the Hierarchs, he seems to be the only one that seeks conquest." The Commander replied softly. "Yet there is something… odd about him."

The Honor Guard turned toward the Commander. "Where are your lower squads? The Field Commanders, scouts, minors and the Unggoy's?"

"I sent them to search this structure, and to be sure no more weapons are waiting to attack us."

"Very well. His holiness would like …" The Honor Guard was silenced mid sentence as the massive door to the chamber parted and the High Prophet of Regret began to float into the room. At his side were a dozen Honor Guards, marching in parade at his side. The Honor Guard snapped to attention and jogged toward the approaching Hierarch. "Your holiness, I have not completed my inspection. It is not wise for you to come so soon."

Regret floated to the Guard's side. "I have never been one to wait. And this will be no exception. The instruments of the Gods are at our fingertips and therefore we can not afford… to … wait." His speech slowed as his eyes glanced at the enormous holographic ring in the center of the room. The ceiling stretch far into the sky, and domed the room. The floor was staggered in height, yet descending toward the central control terminal under the hologram. To each side of the room were several doors with Spec Ops grunts on guard.

Regret lifted his arms to the sky. "In our search we have conquered many, united even more, and brought balance to our cause." His words echoed throughout the chamber and everyone looked to him as he spoke. "This… this is the object of all our diligence. This is the goal that will lead us to the Great Journey. Kneel in reverence, all of you, all of you whom are worthy of such a sight, kneel!" He floated to the base of the hologram and turned to face the gathering horde of Elites. With one last inhale he lifted his arms again. "Behold… Halo!"

The Commander stood at Regret's side and his lower mandibles dropped in disbelief. He turned and gasped at the towering hologram before his eyes. The Prophets were right and they had not lied about Halo. The mutterings of the Elites behind him began to grow louder as they all began to bow, but he didn't care to silence them, he was too stunned himself. His doubts, his hesitation toward the Prophets and the Hierarchs had all been silenced. He had never believed in the Great Journey, or the Gods of the Prophets. He had doubted even the Forerunner structures that he had seen with his own eyes, but now, with overwhelming evidence was the one solid piece of evidence that his heart could not dispute. Halo was the gateway to the Great Journey, and he was seeing its image before his eyes.

He knelt to the ground, placed his palms to the cold metal floor, and bowed deeply. The other Elites watched as the Commander, their leader second only to the Supreme Commander of _the Fleet of Divine Light_, bowed before them. Many had bowed at the Prophet's first words, but many had hesitated. After seeing the Commander submit to the image, they also followed suit.

Regret continued. "Halo, in all of its divine reverence. Soon we will know of its location, and become one step closer to fulfilling our Great Journey! Arise my warriors. It is time for our tasks to be completed." The mass of Elites stood and awaited orders.

Regret turned and spoke softly to the commander. "This chamber is now sacred, Commander. You know what you must do." He turned and floated closer to the central terminal.

The Commander nodded and looked to the Spec Ops sergeant that was slowly rising from his prone position at his side. "Leave a few squads of Unggoy and place Keg-Yar guards at the chamber entrance. From here on, this chamber is sacred and we can not befoul it with our presence. The Honor Guards will remain to protect Regret with Unggoy support. Clear out everyone else."

"Commander, I do not believe I have ever heard you speak so… respectfully. Have you finally accepted the Prophet's wisdom?"

Commander Rtas Vadumee stared toward the Special Operations Sergeant, "You have your orders, Sergeant. Do not let the Hierarchs orders be delayed." He clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk away.

The Sergeant watched for a second but then raised his voice and stretched his mandibles wide. "Warriors, clear this sacred Chambers! It is time for his Holiness to do his divine deed!"

- - - - - - - -

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"  
Home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"  
_March 7, 2434 : Sol Relative Time

No longer burdened with the armor of Covenant Sangheili Warriors, Balmaedee, Simyaldee, and M'atralee stepped casually through the local marketplace. Farmers from the outer regions of the country were struggling to make ends meet, all in part to the Hierarch's orders to evacuate the planet. Buyers were in short supply, and civilians were few and far between. The farmers would be the last to leave this world and return to Dorenth, a privilege bestowed upon them by the Hierarchs. No matter the frustration, the farmers sold their crops as best they could. Soldiers still frequented the town, but they only cared for fresh meat and wine.

The world that Simyaldee once called home had become a military outpost, but no one understood why. The Hierarchs, the religious leaders of the Covenant, had ordered all Sangheili outpost worlds to be evacuated of civilian inhabitants. The Elite High Council was in the process of questioning the Prophets as to why this had happened, but there was little that could be done about it. The will of the Hierarchs is the will of the Covenant.

Simyaldee tightened his traditional Sangheili garb across his chest. The loose fitting cloth and vest was a much more relaxing material upon his dark skin, and his range of motion was higher because of it. Yet he could feel a cold piece of metal beneath his clothing; a waist belt and an energy sword. It was the only weapon permitted for this assignment. It was fully customized from untraceable materials, so that if he lost it no one could identify the owner.

A large pack of Grunts scurried freely about the street, sniffing the air at any by passers. Even they found more freedom then the Sangheili civilians. Behind them floated several low ranking Prophets. Balmaedee noticed their approach and nodded to his team.

"I will speak to them, but only if they stop us." He whispered softly as they continued to trek through the marketplace. The four prophets halted in their path, and several grunts encircled them; eyeing Simyaldee's team.

"Halt civilians!" One of the prophets spoke commandingly. He motioned ahead of his group and looked to them curiously. "You should be evacuating. Why are you here?"

Balmaedee lowered his head, "Forgive us, holy one. We are simple farmers seeing to the day's business. We have one last day of supplies to vend before we board tomorrow's flight. We did not mean to break any rules."

"Indeed." The Prophet smirked. "Which distract did you live in? What is your Prefecture?"

Balmaedee spoke quickly, as if instinctively aware of his answer. "The town of Gree' Royale. Our overseer was his Highness the Prophet of Passion."

"Passion's town has been off world for more than three days. I do not recall any farmers requesting a longer stay."

Balmaedee frustratingly thought to himself, "Of all the Prophets on this world, we happen to meet the one that keeps track of all details." He sulked visually in front the lower ranking Prophet, hoping to show that he was in error. "Forgive me, your holiness. I did not fill out the proper request forms. My sons are young, as you can see,…" He gestured toward Simyaldee and M'atralee. "… and we had much work to do. We had to destroy a large portion of our crops just to make a descent haul this cycle. It was an error in my judgment."

"Discipline is what makes this Covenant successful, farmer. You would best remember that." The Prophet spun ihs hovering chair and looked toward an elder grunt. "Assign a team to follow this farmer and his young. Make sure they board the next transport off world."

"Me obey!" The grunt happily saluted. With a hop, he spun to several grunts and began to bark orders. Four grunts quickly scuttled to Balmaedee's side. "We follow, report status."

"I will be expecting a report within the hour." The Prophet stated as he began to float away. The other Prophets followed as well as their Grunt escorts.

Simyaldee turned to the grunt at his side. "Why are you escorting Prophets? Where are their Sangheili guards?"

"Me no answer you. You get to shuttle, or me tell Prophets!" The elder grunt happily shouted. He had been given authority over a family of Elite's; and was excited beyond joy. The other grunts at his side happily cheered at his stern approach toward the Elite. M'atralee was clearly not happy with the arrangement.

"Let us head toward the shuttle… father." M'atralee almost snarled the words. Not in anger, but in frustration of being watched by lowly grunts.

"Agreed." Balmaedee replied as he turned toward an unpopulated area of the market. The group followed, and the grunts were none the wiser about where they were going. Balmaedee entered an alley and pressed deeper until they were well out of view of the main street.

Balmaedee softly stated, "Now."

A pulse of light quickly escaped M'atralee's grip, as his low growl of aggression gave way to his energy sword splitting two grunts in one swing. The elder grunt shook in terror as he watched his younger brothers die instantly before his eyes. Their glowing blue blood flashed across has methane re-breather and he froze. Balmaedee cut down the third grunt with no hesitation; the creatures barely had time to scream.

Simyaldee faced the elder grunt, the pack leader, and slowly pulled his blade from beneath his clothes. The energy sword powered to life, flashing in a controlled flow of white hot plasma and energy. The grunt shook nervously; he was terrified. He lifted his left arm to turn on his communicator, but his shock was so great that he did not feel that his arm had been severed by Simyaldee's blade. He looked down and saw his cut off limb upon the ground. He fell to his back, cowering and pleading in fear; so full of shock that he didn't care that his arm had been cut off.

"No hurt! No hurt! Me follow orders! No Hurt…" A hiss of methane escaped the Grunt's tank as Simyaldee ran the cowering creature through. He pulled the blade free and powered it off. Without concern he gripped the dead body and tossed it into a corner; Balmaedee and M'atralee had already done the same. They then covered the bodies in debris.

"You kill well, young one." M'atralee smirked; raising his left upper mandible. "That will teach these vermin to ever think they are better than a Sangheili.

"No time to gloat." Balmaedee cut in. "It will not be long before these corpses are discovered. I can already smell their decay. This unfortunate incident will force us to act ahead of schedule."

"We should honor their sacrifice." Simyaldee stated. "They died so that we could complete our mission."

M'atralee tilted his head in a confused gesture. "Honor? For Grunts?"

Balmaedee stepped closer. "Honor the fallen that die for the will of the Elite High Council. It is one of our principal teachings. You should know that by heart."

M'atralee replied, "Forgive me, Second."

"They may be beneath us, but they were only doing as they were ordered." Balmaedee turned to the far end of the alley. "But we don't have time. We must go."

The small team darted from the alley, leaving the bloody corpses scarcely concealed in the darkening alley. The twilight hour had arrived.

- - - - - - - -

The Prophet floated closer to the bound Sangheili strapped to the wall of a dark prison. His naked skin was covered in scars, blood, and sweat, while his arms and legs were strapped down. The floor was stained with blood and hunks of flesh from previous prisoners. In the Prophet's hand was a long metal rod, which sparked upon a sharp end. He jabbed the rod into the naked Sangheili's body and the warrior groaned in agony. The smell of his own flesh began to fill his nostrils as muscles tightened across his body. His lungs expelled all of his air, and he struggled to maintain consciousness. The pain subsided as the prophet pulled the rod away.

"They called me." The Prophet began. "They called me here, from the far reaches of Covenant space, just to see you. It pleases me that they did. I have waited so long to get my hands upon a specimen like you. You have no love for the Covenant, but you are filled with such anger and loathing that you will not break from my torment. But I promise you that you will. I will break you. For the past two weeks I have been exploring your body, testing your limits, your endurance to pain, your threshold and your mind. But now it must end. I, the Prophet of Punishment, am not without leniency. Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you die swiftly. A small injection will ease your suffering, and you can pass on to the after life. However, if you deny me my query, I will make you feel pain unlike anything you have ever experienced. Not even the Demons of the underworld could come close to what I can do to you."

He floated away from the bound Sangheili and watched for a moment, judging the Elite's reaction. "Now tell me; are you the Sangheili trainer known as 'Master'?" He raised his rod and jabbed slowly into the Elites chest, puncturing his lung and sending high voltages of electricity into his system. No longer able to resist the pain, the Warrior released a deep cry of agony. The Prophet slowly pulled the rod from his chest, instantly cauterizing the wounds and preventing the warrior from bleeding out. "Answer!"

The warrior replied with a deep release of his pain, "I am the one you seek."

"Good." The Prophet smiled. "The other ten Sangheili that I brought here also said the same thing. But they were lying to me in order to protect the real Master. I am no fool, and this willingness to protect your kin is boring me. But I have found a way to discern the truth from you." He jabbed the rod into the other side of his chest forcing the Elite to scream once again. "What has become of your student, Rtas Vadumee?"

"HE... IS… COMMANDER!" He screamed in response. It was painful, too painful for even his masterful skill to withstand. And yet when the Prophet pulled the rod from his chest the Elite continued to scream, but not in pain. His screams were in frustration that he had given away a secret that he had held deep in his heart for nearly Twenty years.

The Prophet gazed at him in shock, stunned in disbelief that he had finally found the real Master. "Indeed he is. You are the master, or better yet, the Warrior with no name." The prophet placed his sparking rod on a nearby table and began to examine his other tools. "Now, let us begin the true inquisition. He gripped a glowing white syringe and slowly floated closer to the Master.

The Master lowered his head and wept.

- - - - - - - -

The moon hung overhead, casting deep shadows upon the small southern prefecture. They had been traveling for less than thirty minutes and had made their way into the heart of the Prophets central building without notice.

Simyaldee whispered, "Second, we have twenty units before the next guard shift. We should be able to get in and out unnoticed."

"Agreed. M'atralee, move to the rear of the building. Simyaldee to the left. I will go to the right. Use the signal when you find the holding cells." Using their stealth alone, the three warriors vanished into the shadows of the moonlit night. Any form of active camouflage was not advised, as it would only connect them to the Spec Ops if they were caught or killed. This mission was Simyaldee's first, and only the tenth official Mirratord assignment, but none the less it was going to be difficult.

The objective was simple: find the prisoner, free him or terminate. The one prisoner in particular that had to be found was someone that had in depth knowledge of the Mirratord. Though the Mirratord warriors were mentally prepared to hold back information and kill themselves if need be, this prisoner had no such loyalty and could be pressured into giving up names and information. They had to complete this mission at all cost, but several factors remained; they could be too late. The Prophets may have already retrieved the information they needed.

Simyaldee slipped into a vacant hallway and crouched in a shadowy corner. The windows were not glassed, making entry easy, and the window drapery blew in the soft nighttime breeze. Searching the building was going to be the hard part. Sangheili were not permitted inside the Prophet's chambers unless invited. If he, or his teammates, were discovered the alarm would sound, and support would be summoned.

Simyaldee dashed across the hall and into another shadowy depth. He covered twenty yards in a split second. He dropped to a knee and peeped around a corner; three Kig-Yar guards. Their eyes were keen, but not perfect. The Jackals were practically blind in the dark, yet superior in the light. They guarded a door at the far end of the corridor, and stood under an illuminating light. He noticed a small table with a glass pot sitting next to him, and cautiously slipped the glass pot closer to the edge of the table. He then left the glass alone and counted the number of shadows between him and the two guards. Quietly Simyaldee crept down the hallway. One of the Jackals looked directly at him, but saw nothing beyond the light. Pathetic choice for guards, the grunts would have been far more useful. At least their sense of smell would help at night, and then they could make enough noise to get the Prophet's attention.

Simyaldee had to go beyond the door in order to get deeper into the Prophet's massive home. He had to be thorough in his search. Moving the Jackal's would not be easy, yet he had a trick or two up his sleeve. He crept into a corner only five feet away from the Jackals. Even with his massive hoofs he was ghostly silent. He pulled a small pebble from his pocket and with a deathly precise throw he hit the glass pottery at the end of the hall. Cause of its closeness to the edge of the table, if fell and shattered. The Jackal's looked up and ran down the hall to investigate; passing Simyaldee by a few feet.

Simyaldee jolted toward the door and slipped inside, but a lone Jackal was just beyond the door. With one flow of motion he closed the door, pulled up his hand and snapped the Jackal's neck before it could squeak out an outcry. Its body went lifeless and he carried it into a shadowy corner. Buy the time the body was discovered, he and his team would be long gone; hopefully.

Simyaldee's ear began to buzz, "Target found. Get to the basement." Came Balmaedee's voice. Simyaldee was stunned at how fast the Second had reached the prisoner and waited for orders. Simyaldee scanned the new room and saw several passageways. Unfortunately this room was void of any shadow's dark enough to conceal himself. Several Jackals could be heard in the distance, around a corner and most likely in a larger room. He pulled his hood upon his head, and thought quickly. He cautiously crept down an unpopulated path and found another door. It was unguarded, and thusly the wisest path. He opened it, with a soft creek, and peeped inside. It was stairwell. He darted inside.

The stairwell wound downward, going deeper then he thought necessary, but then he heard the familiar hum of Forerunner technology; a Prophet's throne. He glanced around and found that hiding was nearly impossible in the tight stairwell. Was the Prophet coming up or moving at the base? He moved forward and peeked around the curve as he went. The humming faded; a good sign. He neared the base of the stairs and could finally see three Prophets talking on the far side of the room. Again, lights were everywhere, but the shadows wouldn't help against the Prophet's keen eyes. Their visual spectrum was nearly as sharp as the Elites'. He looked around and noticed that the rafters were fully exposed and concealed by the high powered lights beneath them.

Simyaldee sprang upward, gripped the railing and pulled himself into the darkness of the rafters overhead. The metal support beams held the weight of the building, and was blacked out by the lights. Even if the prophets looked up, they would be blinded by the lights below his feet. This location would be perfect. Simyaldee looked around, he didn't see the target, but he did see another door. It was partially open and it appeared to be another stairwell.

The prophets were discussing something as they scanned their terminals, "The planet is nearly evacuated. All Prefectures have reported in. Military patrols are beginning to regroup. Within the next day we will be able to summon the Jiralhanae."

Another Prophet spoke, "Yes, but we must be sure that the planet is not active with any Covenant forces or civilians. The Jiralhanae will not be pleased, and our negotiations will be for naught."

"Relax. The 'Brutes' will get what they want and we shall get what we want; another strong ally within our fold."

Simyaldee mumbled to himself, "Jiralhanae?" A soft hand rested upon his shoulder and quietly whipped around; energy sword at the ready.

"Relax brother, it is I." M'atralee whispered. The loud hum of equipment below easily drowned out his words. "They've been talking about the evacuation. Have you heard of these… Jiralhanae?"

Simyaldee softly exhaled, grateful that it was only his Mirratord brother. "No, I have not. We should report this to the Council. They will be quite pleased to know such things."

"Indeed." M'atralee replied. "This farce was only to clear this world and hand it over to these Jiralhanae things. This was our outpost. We conquered it and seeded it for our kin. Blast these Prophets and their lies. For now, let us focus on the task at hand. We must get beyond that door. Perhaps now we should shed the Prophet's blood?"

"Agreed." Simyaldee crept across the support beams until he was over the Prophets' heads. He placed his hand to his throat and whispered, "Three subject's ready to be neutralized."

A voice vibrated in his ear from Balmaedee, "Go."

Simyaldee and M'atralee leaned forward and fell toward the floor. Simyaldee pulled back his blade and powered it. His first swipe struck the back of the central Prophet's neck, splitting him down to his torso, stopping only when it hit the large floating chair. He then swung his blade to the right, severing the other Prophet's head. M'atralee jammed his blade into the far left Prophet's skull. The creatures never knew what hit them. Despite the blood spray, the Prophets died silently.

M'atralee clipped on his communicator, "Neutralized. Descending to lower level"

Balmaedee replied back. "Lower level, secure. I have the target and we are coming up." Simyaldee and M'atralee raced down the stairs to meet Balmaedee.

"How did he get passed those Prophets?" Simyaldee questioned.

"He is the Second, young one. His skill knows no limit." They pushed on and spotted Balmaedee with a bloodied and aged warrior on his shoulder. His body was marked with wounds that had been opened and closed numerous times, and only a loosely tossed amount of clothing covered him.

Balmaedee looked to his two allies. "He has been tortured for many days. He can not walk. M'atralee, clear our exit path, as there is no need in playing it safe any longer. I'm sure the Prophets will deny that this prison ever existed."

"Yes sir!" M'atralee turned and raced up the stairwell. Simyaldee and Balmaedee followed swiftly behind.

"Simyaldee, support M'atralee and give me cover if needed."

"Sir!" Simyaldee held his position in between M'atralee and Balmaedee. His blade glowed brilliantly and was craving to spill more of the Prophet's blood. They reached the top of the second stair well and raced forward, but oddly most of the Jackal guards had moved on. "M'atralee, hold!" Simyaldee softly stated.

They all knelt in a corner of the hallway. M'atralee turned back to Simyaldee and questioned him. "What is it?"

"Something is not right. I left two guards here in this hallway. The dead Jackal in the stairwell is still there, undiscovered. But the guards are not."

"They could be on patrol." M'atralee commented.

"No. They were stationary guards."

Balmaedee crept closer, cautiously holding the warrior upon his arms. "We must push on. Simyaldee, this was your entry path?"

"Yes."

"You lead, eliminate any threat. M'atralee, provide cover."

"Understood."

The trio sprang into motion once again, this time with Simyaldee in front. He turned a corner and spotted six Jackals. They had probably come to help investigate the chattered glass pottery. No matter, they would die quickly. One of them spotted Simyaldee, and his glowing blade, as he came out of the shadows. Three of the Jackals powered on their shield units and ducked behind them while the others pulled up Plasma Pistols.

The first volley of plasma rang out toward Simyaldee and he hunkered down, almost dragging his chest to the floor. With explosive acceleration, he dodged the volley of plasma and positioned himself in front of the Jackal's shields. He pushed the forward most Jackal back into the pack and began to cut them down one by one. However, one of the Jackal's was able to send off a transmission.

The Jackal squawked, "Intruders!" Simyaldee cursed beneath his tongue and split the creature's face in two. The alarms rang out as M'atralee slew the last Jackal.

Simyaldee pointed to the upper window, and M'atralee leapt through. He reached back and Balmaedee passed the old warrior up to him. Simyaldee and Balmaedee followed. The alarm of the Prophets' home began to grow louder as the city wide alarm followed suit. Speed would be critical now. Even if the Prophets denied that the interrogation room existed, they could still hold them as prisoners for breaking into a Prophets' home. It wouldn't be long before they would be hunted by their own kin. They ran into an alley and climbed upward. They had to get off the streets.

"M'atralee, separate, and get to the evacuation point. Simyaldee will provide cover for me." M'atralee nodded and sprinted off across the rooftop. Balmaedee laid the elder warrior down and pulled the cloth over him.

The aged warrior looked up at him with a smile. "It has been some time… Balmaedee."

Simyaldee instantly recognized the voice and looked closely to the aged warrior. "Master?"

Balmaedee ignored the Master's soft words and Simyaldee's surprise. "Master tell me everything."

"Yes… there was only one Prophet. He … called himself… Punishment. Forgive me… I could not keep my knowledge to myself. He left before you arrived… you must find him."

"We will, master." Simyaldee added. "We will get you out of here." A hiss of static and energy came from Balmaedee's hands, and Simyaldee looked to him curiously. "Second… what are you…"

"Master, how much does he know?" Balmaedee questioned.

"He knows of the Mirratord, and the Commander… that they are … connected. He has pride, and will deliver the information directly… to the Hierarchs. Find him… please. Find him and forgive me." The master gripped Simyaldee's hand as he looked up to Balmaedee. Simyaldee watched as the Master shed a lone tear.

"The Gods of our Ancestors will forever embrace you, Master." Balmaedee softly whispered.

The master then looked to Simyaldee and smiled, "Then my duty is done." Balmaedee's blade pierced the Master's chest and he coughed as his heart was forced to stop. Life slowly left him.

"Why?" Simyaldee questioned frantically.

"Because, young one. A Prophet escaped, one that knows what the Master has to say. If this Prophet of Punishment manages to escape, he can use the Master's knowledge against the Mirratord, and bring down the Council. In death the Master can share no words. His body must be found as proof that he is dead. But we must still find the Prophet and stop him from contacting the Hierarchs." Balmadee placed his hand to his throat. "M'atralee, change in plans. We have a Prophet to slay."

- - - - - - - -

Mercy read the message upon his screen in the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. He was joyful at the news. "Truth, it would seem that much has happened."

Truth floated away from the window overlooking the armada. "Explain."

"A transmission from our evacuation leaders, upon the Sangheili outpost: The evacuation is nearly complete, and they have captured the Spec Ops Commander's Master. Punishment is headed to his ship in order to present the information himself."

"You summoned Punishment from his outpost to deal with this matter?" Truth questioned.

"Yes, none of the other interrogators were making much ground."

Truth sighed, but turned his gaze away. "It would seem that summoning Punishment was a good decision on this matter. I am quite eager to hear what he has to say." Truth rested his head upon his right hand and turned back to the view of his armada. "But be mindful, Mercy, of whom you assign such tasks. The stability of the Covenant is frailer than it at first seems."

Mercy turned back to his terminal. "I do understand, Truth. But this is still our Covenant, until we see fit to change it." Truth ignored Regret's soft rebuke. "Now that this matter has been dealt with, I only ponder what is delaying Regret's battle against the Yanme'e."

**To be continued…**


	5. No Doubt, Bright Reclamation

**Section 5: No Doubt, Bright Reclamation**

"The Sixth Age of Doubt"_  
Fleet of Divine Light  
_Yanme'e Territory  
March 7, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Squad Minor Omega 419, second in command Sado Timnaldee continued to patrol the outer region of the now Sacred Hall of the Yanme'e nest. He had finally seen combat, but was only able to fire one round at the one time enemy. The Yanme'e were now members of the Covenant, yet their role would be limited until Prophet Prefectures were in place; the 'Drones' needed conditioning and faith.

The rocky tunnels of the nest were long and easily navigated. Timnaldee mindlessly patrolled his sector, but knowing that the Yanme'e were now 'allied forces', he pondered who he was guarding against. He huffed in frustration. Added to his annoyance was the constant barks and snaps of the grunt pack in his ranks.

"Silence!" Timnaldee roared as he spun around to face the grunts behind him. Two of the five foot creatures dropped their weapons in a cowering display. The others panicked and raced in the opposite direction. Timnaldee gritted his mandibles tightly in a deep growl as he continued his patrol. "Worthless cowards, they lack any honor or courage! Mindless! Vile and ANNOYING! Why must we have these worthless creatures in our ranks?" Timnaldee huffed loudly, his voice echoing throughout the tunnel. Out of the pack of Grunts that had followed him, only one held its position at his side. Though clearly nervous after Timnaldee's display of rage, the lowly Grunt maintained his discipline as best as he could.

Despite his detest for the creatures, Timnaldee understood their importance in combat. No force could withstand a swarming battalion of Unggoy, their numbers could overwhelm any group. In large numbers the grunts were quite formidable; this was their only asset to the Covenant's campaign to reclaim the lost Forerunner artifacts and achieve the Great Journey.

He glanced at the lone grunt at his side and noticed that he was the elder of the pack. "Gather your pack and maintain discipline. We have a job to do and I can not focus if they are constantly causing such a ruckus."

"Me understand." The grunt nervously replied. He turned back and began to search for the trailing members of his pack. Timnaldee pushed on, into the dimly light path ahead of him. Soon the tunnel began to change as he crossed a threshold into the Forerunner structure. He had reached the end of his patrol zone and began to turn around, but he suddenly heard the approach of another.

"Commander." Timnaldee nodded in respect. The Spec Ops Commander motioned toward him as the door to the Forerunner structure closed behind him.

"You are?"

"Sir, I am Timnaldee, Second of Minor Squad Omega 419."

"Ah, a former Watchman. Did you get to see much combat this day"

"Very little, Sir. I was one of the last to land upon the asteroid. By the time my squad and I crossed the airlock…"

The Commander lifted his hand to halt Timnaldee's words. "It is time." A burst of static filled their ears as the com channels opened. Every member of the Covenant paused as the words of the Prophet began to fill their ears. Those lucky enough to be aboard ship or near a holographic panel were able to see the image of Regret as he prepared to give his sermon.

"_Brothers in arms, fellow members of the Covenant, hear me. For so long we have sought our destiny. For so long we have traveled across the stars in search of our query; the relics of our Gods. Now, after all this time, we have found the first guiding star. We have found the marker we sought. We have found the path to Halo!"_

"_Release your troubled doubts. Let go of your weariness and troubles. Finally, our path to Reclamation has begun. The Great Journey lies ahead of us and nothing shall disrupt us from our path."_

Deep within the Sacred Hall of the Forerunner structure, Regret gazed into the Hologram recorder as a grunt controlled sat at its controls. "We have much to rejoice for on this day. With the Inclusion of the Yanme'e, and the discovery of Halo's location, we can look forward to this new age of our Covenant's rise. Let us look passed the Age of Doubt, and embrace the First Age of Reclamation."

An Elite Honor Guard tapped the grunt sitting at the video recorder on the shoulder, and the grunt ended the recording. The lowly grunt flipped several keys and the recording began to repeat and spread throughout the _Fleet of Divine Light_.

"The transmission is now on continuous loop, your Holiness." The Honor Guard said with respect.

"Excellent." Regret smirked as he floated toward the guard's position. "I am sure that Truth and Mercy will not be… happy with this sudden turn of events. But no matter, I will deal with them in time. Continue to download the information, and then destroy this terminal."

Shocked, the Elite stepped back. "Your Holiness, are you certain? You wish to destroy the instrument of the Gods?"

"Noble warrior, your faith is strong, yet we can not leave this instrument in tact. Once all of the Forerunner data is completely extracted into our terminals, it will be safe from those who defy the will of the Gods. We will leave our terminals here, guarded by our encryption devices, guaranteeing its safety. Do not fret, this is merely a tool left by the Gods, and not a true Forerunner Artifact."

"Again, your holiness, your wisdom graces me." The honor guard knelt at Regret's base. Regret floated away, escorted by several of the other honor guards.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation  
Home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
March 8, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Had it been a few minutes, or had it been an entire day? The trio of Mirratord Warriors had lost all track of time. They poised on to fulfill their mission, and at the moment that was all that mattered. Cut off and unable to contact the High Council, Balmaedee, Simyaldee, and M'atralee stood poised upon the prophet's ship, dawning standard Elite battle armor.

It had taken them nearly an hour to track down the Prophet of Punishment, but only a few minutes to sneak aboard his ship. However, getting close to a Prophet was not going to be easy. Covenant Capital ships had rules, duties, and roster manifests; but thanks to Simyaldee's quick thinking they had managed to slow down Punishment's ability to transmit his information to the Hierarchs.

"Sabotaged?" Punishment questioned to the Ship Master.

"Yes, your holiness. All communication systems have been disrupted. Repairs will take several units to complete, perhaps even a full rotation."

"A full Roatation!" Punishment snarled. "I have important information to pass on to the Hierarchs, and you are telling me that I can not!"

The ship master knelt at the base of Punishment's throne. "Sir, I will contact another ship and tell them to transfer your information."

"It the ship's communications are down, then how do you intend to contact them?" Punishment fumed.

"I have dispatched a Phantom to the nearest ship to make arrangements for your arrival."

Punishment sat up and calmed himself. "Very well. Notify me when I can depart. And find out who was responsible for destroying the ship com system."

"Yes your holiness." The ship master stood tall, his golden armor reflecting the light of the ships command deck. As he watched the prophet exit the deck he turned to his command crew. "Find the culprit and bring him to me now!"

Elsewhere on the ship, Simyaldee and M'atralee waited near a phantom on the ships' landing deck. They watched as several grunt patrols walked by but maintained their position. They heard a thump come from inside the phantom and they stepped inside the rear ramp; inside was Balmaedee.

"The phantom com links are still working, but we can only monitor other ship communications. A phantom was just sent to a nearby ship, but the Prophet was not aboard. I believe they will take the prophet off ship. We must split up. There are four phantoms prepping for departure. There should be one amongst them that is being guarded by a Special Operations squad. That will most likely be the Prophet's guard detail. Go!"

They bolted from the phantom's ramp and scattered across the expansive landing deck. Eventually Simyaldee stumbled upon a group of Spec Ops guarding a lone Phantom on the far side of the deck. He looked around, but Balmaedee and M'atralee where nowhere to be found. Approaching the group of Special Ops would be unwise, as they would immediately question him, but he needed to get near the phantom.

He cautiously made his way toward the ship, but time was up. Simyaldee watched as a far side door parted and the Prophet made his way toward the phantom. He cursed under his breath, and doubled his pace toward the group of unsuspecting Spec Ops.

The Prophet began to climb into the rear ramp of the Phantom as several of the Spec Ops began to ride the gravity lift under the belly of the ship. Simyaldee knew his timing had to be precise. He dashed toward the last Spec Ops that walked toward the phantom's gravity lift. Simyaldee quickly looked around to see if he was being watched; all was clear. He leapt out, diving toward the Elite, and tackled him. He pinned the Spec Ops warrior beneath his own weight, quickly removed the Elite's helmet and slammed it against his head, rendering him unconscious. A nearby grunt witnessed the assault, but didn't have the chance to report it. His neck snapped easily under Balmaedee's hand. Simyaldee looked up just as the grunt went lifeless in his team leader's arms.

"Hurry, you don't have much time!" Balmaedee dragged the grunt's corpse out of sight. "Put on his armor and get aboard. Complete the mission and rendezvous at the extraction coordinates. We shall wait for you as long as we can." Simyaldee didn't hesitate. He quickly removed his armor and pulled on the unconscious Spec Ops' armor. The Phantom above their heads began to hum as the rear ramp closed shut. Simyaldee pulled on the helmet and jumped into the gravity lift.

Balmaedee looked on and mumbled, "Good luck, young one. From here on, you are on your own." The gravity lift faded as the Phantom lifted higher from the deck. It spun on its central plane and exited the landing deck. Balmaedee heard the groggy groan of the Elite beneath him. He turned to the Elite as he began to sit up.

"Are you alright, brother?"

"My … head. What happened?"

"Someone stole your armor, killed this grunt and boarded the Prophet's shuttle!" Balmaedee stated with a sense a flare. "I saw it all."

"We must alert the Prophet!" The Spec Op replied as he rubbed his bare head.

"It is impossible right now." Balmaedee added. "The com systems are still down."

- - - - - - - -

Simyaldee took the nearest position along the wall, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other Elites. He looked them all over; some seemed to carry themselves well, while others seemed bored and unmotivated. He looked around for the field commander and watched as he approached.

"Why were you late?" The Spec Ops Field Commander questioned.

"I fell behind, forgive my tardiness." Simyaldee replied. The field commander gave him a stern glare but pushed on, checking the other members of his guard detail. Luckily, checking rank was not standard for Spec Ops. They merely followed orders and the chain of command. Simyaldee watched as the Prophet floated toward the forward canopy of the Phantom, and he knew that his options were limited.

He thought to himself, "I could attack the Prophet, kill him and explain to these Spec Ops that he was executing our brothers in a prison. But that would bring forth to many questions, and the risk of someone talking about my actions would be too high. In the end, there is no way to avoid what must be done. Can this really be the only way?"

Simyaldee stepped out of position and motioned toward the front of the phantom.

The other elites at his side began to mumble.

The field commander turned toward him and questioned, "What are you doing? Get back in line!"

Simyaldee ignored his retort and lunged toward the forward compartment. He knew he couldn't kill the Prophet with a full frontal attack, their shields were too strong for that. The door to the forward cockpit would be a problem if it were closed, thusly he pulled up his energy swords and slashed the door controls; sending sparks throughout the cabin. At least now the Prophet could not hide behind the canopy door.

"What is the meaning of this?" The prophet questioned as he spun around to see the Elite standing before him brandishing his energy sword. "Then you are the one who sabotaged my ship? Kill him!"

For a moment the other Spec Ops paused, unsure of what to do, but their duty took precedence over anything. Simyaldee stabbed toward the Prophet and as expected he impacted his shield. Punishment was not a Hierarch, one of the three rulers of the Covenant, but he was a high class and respected Prophet; meaning he was given access to a defensive throne. A direct attack against this higher Class Prophet was going to be tricky. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as two Spec Ops pulled out there Plasma Rifles and took aim. Simyaldee spun around and dashed toward them.

Their blood stained the floor, and for a brief second everyone froze. Simyaldee glared at the blood of his dead kin. They had fallen so swiftly. He had killed them before they could fire their weapons. What had he done? What was he doing? Two of his brothers had been slain, killed in order to fulfill his mission.

He lifted his eyes as the remaining ten Elites powered on their swords. His ears began to ring as the pilot began to shout into the com system. "I repeat! His holiness is under attack from a HERETIC!"

With a quick step, Simyaldee picked up the plasma rifle, took aim at the com unit and fired a full volley. He dropped the gun as it began to overheat and spun to face off against the Spec Ops. The pop and static of the destroyed com system filled everyone's ears, and Simyaldee attacked. He was more than a basic Sangheili Warrior now, he was a member of the Mirratord. He had been trained by his master to become the best of the best; he was a Mirratord. Before he knew his calling, the Mirratord was waiting for him. Sacrifices had to be made, lives taken in vain, and he would have to learn to live with his actions; this was what it meant to be a Mirratord. To serve the High Council and protect the lives of all Sangheili, there would need to be sacrifices.

"Forgive me brothers, but this Prophet must go no further."

Simyaldee's words were soft, but each of the ten elites heard him. They had no idea of what they were about to see.

The main bay of the Phantom was big enough to support fourteen Elite's comfortably, with a standard pack of Grunts in the center. It was a small space to do battle, but the odds were in Simyaldee's favor. The Spec Ops were grouped together, climbing over each other in order to get a good position to fight, but making themselves defenseless.

Simyaldee's first step was lightning quick; he closed the gap between himself and three Elites and cut through their Personal Energy Shields. The Elites roared in pain as they tumbled back; life left them before they hit the deck. Another of the Spec Ops pounced toward Simyaldee's back, but he was long gone, splitting the group in two and moving with an almost fanatic pace. His energy sword was a blur of motion, and he never stopped. Every move was deadly; cutting off limbs, stabbing, tripping, kicking, punching, all affective and precise. Soon the power on Simyaldee's sword began to fade, but taking the moment to pick up a fresh sword from a fallen warrior could leave him exposed. He gripped the powerless hilt in his hand and began to melee the remaining warriors. Blood spray from their wounds began to stain the walls, blood trails from his sword hilt streaked across the phantom's main holding bay until the last of the Spec Ops had fallen.

Simyaldee had gone into a warrior's trance, focused only on defeating his enemy and surviving. The pain of killing his kin, his brothers in arms who were only following orders, had yet to register in his mind. He held the hilt of the energy sword so tightly in his grip that his fist shook from the tension. His eyes were wide open, yet his breathing was calm and steady.

From the forward canopy Punishment watched, his mouth agape in pure shock. "Twelve… you would slay twelve of your kin to kill me?"

Simyaldee slowly turned to face the prophet; the blood of his kin dripping from his armor. "To save my race, I will defy anything and anyone. Their blood is on your hands." He knelt down a gathered a fresh sword from one of his fallen kin. He stepped toward the prophet and looked through the forward view portal and saw that they had arrived at the nearest ship, and they were nearly about to enter the landing deck. He was out of time.

"Your time is up. Soon this ship will be crawling with those who are loyal to the Covenant. You will die for this treason, heretic!"

"I am no heretic." Simyaldee lunged forward, powered off his shield and landed on the Prophet's throne. Punishment was shocked that he was able to penetrate his shielding. Simyaldee's blood stained hand grabbed the Prophet's cloak and he snarled. "Your shield repels opposing energy, but with my shield off you can not stop me."

"No! Release me!" Punishment pleaded as he pulled away from the Elite. Though Punishment was much larger than Simyaldee, he was nothing compared to the Sangheili's strength. He attempted to push the comparatively small Elite away, but Simyaldee held him tightly. He gripped a plasma grenade from his hip and stuck it to Punishment's face.

"This is for my Master!" The grenade began to glow with a bright blue haze and fused into Punishment's skin. The Prophet screamed for help as he attempted to brush away the grenade, but it was too late for him. Simyaldee jumped back and eyed the Elite pilot. The pilot jumped away from his seat just as Punishment exploded in a glow of blue mist, followed by a cloud of red blood and flesh.

- - - - - - - -

The phantom rocked back and forth as it came to a rest and then suddenly fell to the deck. Several maintenance grunts opened the hatch and raced inside as smoke began to drift out of the interior. What they found bewildered them.

"Dead! All dead!" The grunt screamed back to the Elites. The Elites walked into the phantom and inspected the bodies of their fallen comrades. They then noticed the smoldering chair of the Prophet. It was covered in fragments of flesh from what was once Punishment's head.

They found the pilot, covered in blood on the side of the cockpit. "What happened?" One of them asked. But the pilot could not muster any words. He fell into shock as they carried him off the ship.

"A heretic did this?" An Elite Ranger stated as he entered the rear ramp. "The last report was from the pilot, he said that a Heretic was attacking his holiness." The Ranger scanned the main holding bay of the blood soaked phantom. "These warriors were killed by an energy sword however some were killed by a blunt object. Perhaps his sword's power faded and… my word, he killed them with his hilt!" The Ranger looked the corpses over. "I want a body count." The other Elites began to sort the bodies as the Ranger counted. "There are only thirteen, including the pilot! One of them is missing. He couldn't have gone far, he would be heavily stained in blood and perhaps injured."

The Ranger's com channel burst to life in his ears as his Ship Master checked in for an update. _"Status."_

"Sir, only the pilot survived, we will get his details when he awakes. The Prophet of Punishment has been murdered."

"_Damn. The Hierarchs will not be pleased. Find the Heretic! Someone's head will roll for this."_

The com line faded and the Ranger continued to search the inside of the phantom. He walked toward the Prophet's throne and noticed that the Hierarch was leaning in an odd manor. "A plasma grenade was stuck to him. A creative way to kill, but this throne had an energy shield. And…" He looked closer and noticed that the Prophet's blood, which was normally red, was dripping under the throne. However, there was another trail of blood dripping, Sangheili blood. He quickly gripped the Prophet's lifeless corpse and pulled it forward. Bundled behind Punishment's lifeless body, and almost completely covered by the Prophet's massive robe, was the body of an Elite. His body was covered in plasma burns, similar to those of the Prophet's.

"He was killed in the blast radius of the grenade. He was close to the Prophet, but how did he end up inside the throne? And… his armor is missing…"

"Sir!" An Elite minor shouted toward the cockpit. "I found bloody Spec Ops armor in one of the weapons lockers!"

The Ranger spun around and glared at the armor as if his heart had stopped. He activated his com. "Medical detachment! The Pilot is the Heretic!" Do you copy? Come in! Curse you Heretic!"

After several minutes of searching the ship the Ranger and his team of Spec Ops were greeted by a small pack of grunts. "We find Medical team. Unconscious. Heretic not found." Behind the grunts was the medical team that had carried the injured pilot out of the Phantom.

One of them spoke. "He attacked us before we knew what was happening."

"He disguised himself as the pilot and we let him slip right passed us." The Ranger gritted his teeth, clinching his mandibles in frustration. "How could this happen on my watch?" He turned to one of his accompanying warriors. "How many troops have gone down to the city below?"

"Sir, we are preparing to leave orbit, so supply runs have been frequent all day. Minor's have been going to the surface for the past two hours."

"By now he is long gone." The Ranger sulked. "I will go and report this to the Ship Master." The Ranger turned and began to make his long journey to the command deck. "Thirteen Spec Ops and a Prophet were killed by one Warrior. If his deed were not so dark, his skill would be honorable."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"_  
High Charity  
_Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 8, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Truth turned off the visual recording of Regret's sermon and looked to Mercy. "He continues to step beyond our collective decisions."

"Yes." Mercy pondered. "His youth and thrill for conquest garners him too often. But he has made it easier to settle things. And since his sermon began its broadcast yesterday, we have seen an overwhelming turn around in the Sangheili. Their loyalties seem to have become stronger."

"It will only delay the inevitable." Truth countered. "The politics with the Sangheili council is shaky at best. They will once again falter to the side and question their place. We need the Jiralhanae. Within three Cycles, we must have the Brutes at our sides."

"What of Halo?" Mercy questioned. "We should send one of our fleets to it."

"No. That it is not an option. Going to Halo now would be unwise, not until we have properly made preparations."

Mercy floated closer to Truth. "This discovery will be for nothing if we do not go to Halo. The Sangheili will demand to walk upon the soil of the Gods and begin preparations for the Great Journey."

Truth rubbed the stubble upon his chin in thought. "We need more time and to convince the Sangheili that going to Halo now is not our best interest. Their Great Journey will come when the time is right."

Mercy sat up suddenly and shouted, "The Luminous Keys!"

"The ship cores?" Truth questioned. "Perhaps… there would be hundreds of them scattered across the universe."

"Let us begin this -- Age of Reclamation as Regret has dubbed it, with a grand declaration to the Covenanat."

"Yes." Truth smiled with a sinister gaze. "We shall send the fleet to the far corners of the Universe in search of the ship cores… no… the Luminous Keys. Not only will the ship cores expand our ships potentials, they also contain the star maps needed to find Halo. Yes. I believe this will give us more than enough time to gain the 'Brutes' loyalties."

"We have searched so hard to find the Forerunner Artifacts and piece together Halo's location, and now that we know of it, we can add one last quest to our cause."

"Yes… and now that the Yanme'e are within our hold, it is time to reconstruct the Armada."

"What do you mean?" Mercy questioned.

"If we are to employ the brutes, they will need a fleet of their own. Once they join the Covenant we will integrate them onto all of our ships, however…"

Mercy interrupted, "It would be best to have a separate Fleet for them. Perfect, Truth you have seen this through to the end."

Truth glared into Mercy's eyes. "Indeed I have, Mercy. Indeed I have."

The holographic generator in the center of the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, began to hum as the image of a ship master appeared on screen.

Truth graciously responded, "What is the purpose of this communication."

"Your holiness, we have just received word from the evacuation front line. There was an incident."

"Do not stall, Ship Master. Speak!" Truth snapped.

"The Heretics have struck again. Though, this time there target was much worse than before. His Holiness, the Prophet of Punishment has been slain." Truth and Mercy glared at each other before turning their eyes back to the hologram.

Mercy spoke. "Has this Heretic been found?"

"No, your holiness, we are still searching."

Truth breathed deeply. "Ship Master, are you aware that in the two hundred years of our Covenant, no Prophet has been killed till now?"

"Yes, your holiness."

"It would do you well to contact your High Council and prepare them. The Council will convene tomorrow and someone must answer for this!" Truth turned off the communication as Mercy slammed his palms against his armrest.

"Assassinated!" Mercy spat.

"Yes, that is very clear." Truth thought. "The Sangheili are working deeper than we first thought. These Heretic issues were merely thorns before, but now it is getting out of hand. We will need to increase our guard patrols even further, though we must be aware that our Honor Guards are nothing more than Sangheili themselves."

"We must weed out those who are not loyal…" Mercy began to speak but Truth lifted his hand to halt his words.

"Another transmission." Truth powered on the holographic generator and glared at the image of Regret.

"Rumors are pouring in from the evacuation fronts. Is it true that Several Prophets are dead, including a high ranking official?"

Truth replied. "I … we, have not been fully briefed, but an assembly of the council will convene tomorrow. Take great caution, Regret, the Heretics have begun to grow far stronger then we first thought."

Mercy motioned closer to Truth and added, "Yes. We must also discuss your recent sermon to the Covenant. Perhaps this time you have gone too far."

- - - - - - - -

_"Balmaedee, we can not wait any longer." _Domadree stated over the com. _"If I hold over the city any longer we will begin to look suspicious."_

Balmaedee leaned against the metal hull of his Wraith Tank as Ship Master Domadree's ship lingered overhead. He was calm and simply watched as the last cargo create was lifted into the ship's hull by its massive gravity lift.

_"I mean no disrespect, but that was the last of the supplies we were scheduled to pick up for the Council. Board your tank, get into the gravity lift and let us be on our way. There are far more IMPORTANT issues to consider."_

M'atralee sat at Balmaedee's side and stood as Domadree's tone became more aggressive. "Sir, he is right. We know that he was successful, but perhaps he was unable to escape. He knows his duty, he is strong and will not break if tortured. He will take his honor to the afterlife."

"Simyaldee was one of only three warriors to do something that many have tried to do." Balmaedee began. "He defeated the master upon graduation." Balmaedee stood and climbed into the wraith and turned on the power. The massive blue tank began to hover, as it hummed loudly with a mechanical wail. "He maybe late, but he is far from captured." Balmaedee closed the canopy and turned the wraith toward the purple beam of the gravity lift, and was lifted into the hull of Domadree's frigate.

M'atralee turned and gazed into the city one last time, wondering if he would see Simyaldee appear from the corner of a building. But there was nothing. Silence filed the city streets as he stepped closer to the Gravity Lift.

His com link crackled to life, _"Do not fret, Simyaldee will catch up when he can. He's one of us now; the best of the best."_ Balmaedee's words were meant to encourage him, but M'atralee knew all too well what it meant to be a Mirratord.

"How many of our brothers were you forced to slay today, all for the sake of a name?" M'atralee questioned to himself as he stepped into the gravity lift. He was instantly pulled upward but maintained his gaze upon the city below. It was lifeless and no one was there. "I feel your pain brother, I know your heartache. To be Mirratord also means that we have crossed path with our kin, and spilled their blood. We fight to protect our kin, yet we are forced to slay those that stand between us and our target." The gravity lift faded from view and the frigate began to rise away from the world below.

**To be continued**

* * *

NOTE: As you can imagine, a lot has happened to young Simyaldee in the past few days, but you still have yet to see the Simyaldee that has earned the reputation as the most Feared Sangheilli warrior, or what made him into the soldier we know so well in S,FFH. After all, a lot can happen in 120 years that changes anyones perception Opps... have I said too much? The next chapter will bring to light the darker side of the Mirratord and the mentality of ourhero. 

This story was intended to run 7 chapters, but it will now run for at least ten chapters and then hopefully I can start working on Book 3.

**-Soulguard **


	6. Inner Soul, Outer Truth

**Section 6: Inner Soul, Outer Truth**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Outpost world  
Former home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
March 15, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Lightning arced across the dark grey sky as rain continued to fall. The muddy unpaved streets of the city lay empty, void of its bustling activity and shoppers. Overhead, shadowed by the dreary sky, sat the empty buildings and skyscrapers that were once used as the primary military district and housing. Odd shaped birds cluttered upon the window sills in an attempt to stay warm from the cold rain. Yet one lone figure walked these streets.

Simyaldee had plenty of time to race back to the evac-point. Even more time had he stolen one of the Ghosts parked at the base of the ship's gravity lift, but he chose not to go back. For eight days he had been alone, left behind on an abandoned world. Eight days to think on the actions he had committed.

Escaping the ship after killing the Prophet of Punishment was easier than he thought possible; disguising himself as the phantom's pilot and being carried out of the ship. Then escaping the medical team and jumping into the Gravity lift. It was almost as simple as walking out the front door. Killing a Prophet should have been much more difficult, and escaping -- impossible. Yet here he was. It had gone so smoothly and so quickly that he hadn't realized the implications. This was the Covenant, the unbeatable armada that had swept across the universe all for the will of the Gods. How could he have killed a high ranking Prophet and escape so easily? Surely the Covenant's inner security was better then that, or so he thought. For eight days he had been questioning everything he had been taught about the Holy Crusade and the Great Journey. He never supported the Prophets, but now he even questioned their union.

Simyaldee pulled his cloak over his head and walked forward, deeper into the ghostly city that was once a thriving metropolis. Would they come searching for him? Would the Mirratord question what happened to him? The fleet had left orbit on schedule, even though a Prophet had been killed, as if clearing the planet was more important then capturing the Prophet's killer. And what where the Jiralhanae?

The rain became heavier as Simyaldee stepped into a deep puddle, splashing water up to his shins. He turned and walked into a building to seek shelter from the downpour. The building was locked, so he kicked the door in. The metal lock on the swinging hinge door easily crumbled under his power. Inside was an old eating hall, possibly built by a civilian family. He tossed his hood back as dripping water covered the floor beneath him, and quickly scanned the room for anything worth salvaging. He was hungry.

He walked to the food storage and unlatched his Plasma Rifle from his belt. Simyaldee placed it on a nearby table with a loud thud and mindlessly walked toward the back of the store. Finding food had been a serious chore, most of the supplies had been cleaned out during the evacuation, but he was able to find sparse rations from time to time. This eating hall was no exception. The locker was stocked full of rationed meats and protein substitutes. The owner was clearly unable to part with it before evacuating, and carrying it back to the Sangheili home planet was not advised, Dorenth had strict regulations against such things. No matter, Simyaldee didn't care why the food was there, but glad that there was plenty to eat and ration for later use. He found a discarded bag and began to fill it with whatever he could carry.

His powerful hands ripped off a top from one of the canned protein substitutes. He quickly bit into the solid gel of flavored proteins and cupped it into his mouth with his powerful lower mandibles; the taste was horrendous but he had eaten worse in the past few days. As he chewed, he noticed an odd blip on his motion sensor. It instantly recalibrated to eyes and he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone in the building. His motion tracker had not shown any trace of movement in several days, it was almost alarming to see the red dot appear on his heads up display. He spun around and dashed for his Plasma Rifle. Whoever was registering on his tracker was not carrying a identity marker; it was either an unregistered civilian or an enemy target.

Simyaldee shouldered his bag of freshly stocked supplies, clipped his rifle to his belt and motioned toward the source of the blip; it was upstairs, inside the building. He found a standard slope leading to the next floor and cautiously climbed it. He pressed his back to the wall and unclipped his energy sword hilt; just in case. The signal began to split, and there was now three red blips registering on his motion tracker. Not good. He edged toward the top of the slope and peeped around the corner. A long hallway was ahead of him with several doors on each side. This was not looking good, as he could easily be ambushed. The movement was coming from the closest door, which was promising, but multiple enemies could be lurking behind each door; motionlessly waiting. He softly dropped his supply bag, crept toward the door and kicked it in with a roar; better to attack with aggression than to be caught defenseless. Lying in the corner of the room was an old Sangheili male, blanketed as if he were sick. He stared at the old male and was hit in the back by a brick. His shield flared to life, but was virtually unaffected. He spun around and from beneath his cloaked head he glared into the eyes of the young Sangheili female that had hit him. He snarled deeply, sending a shiver down the young female's spine.

Quickly eyeing Simyaldee's blue armor, the female instantly realized her mistake. "Forgive me, warrior." She nervously returned as she dropped the brick. "I thought that -- you were more of the vandals. We were attacked while on the road, and stopped here to rest."

Simyaldee backed away from the female and clipped his hilt back to his belt. He motioned toward the old male and looked at him. "Is he injured?"

The female answered sharply. "Yes. He was trying to defend us. He is our father." Out of another corner appeared an even younger Sangheili male, roughly ten years of age.

"What are you doing here? You should have evacuated." Simyaldee questioned.

"My father has lived here many years and we chose to stay behind. We hid from the patrols so that they could not force us to go." She walked across the room and knelt at her father's side. She wore the clothes of a farmer; simple cloth in various colorful patterns, flowing downward into a full length gown. She examined her father's wound, revealing a stab wound to his mid section. "We were not the only ones who stayed behind. We encountered a few young rebels and attempted to take our food and supplies. Father tried to defend us…"

The old male spoke forward, silencing his daughter. "Young warrior, have you come to force us to leave?"

"Silence father." She countered. "You need your rest. The fleet has already departed. This warrior has been left behind as well." She looked back to Simyaldee, taking note that his blue armor was still stained in blood. "Haven't you? Why are you still here? You are a warrior, so should you not be with the fleet? Tell me, why were we forced to evacuate? Are you going to report us?"

Simyaldee looked to the young male in the corner. The young Sangheili barely had any muscle mass, yet he was developing according to normal children, he could perhaps grow to be a large and powerful male, but Simyaldee looked away from him. He pulled his cloak further upon his brow, turned and walked out of the room; ignoring the female's questions.

He continued to the end of the hall and entered an empty chamber. It was modest in size, a corner room with two windows on each of the far walls. From here he could see into the distance of the city and spot any movement on the street. Though there was something inside of him which was telling him that he should push on; find another area to settle.

The female civilian and her father had called him a warrior, Simyaldee huffed to himself as he rested in a far corner. He didn't see himself as a warrior, no, far from it. He was a monster. He killed a Prophet, that fact alone brought him much joy, but he was then reminded that he killed thirteen of his kin. They were innocent, following orders, but they had to die in order for him to conceal his secret. He once thought the Mirratord was everything he wanted; he was wrong.

He bundled himself in his cloak and glared out the window as the sun began to set in the distance. The rain continued to fall outside with no sign of breaking. The constant pelt of water on the roof was soothing, and Simyaldee closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

- - - - - - - -

Simyaldee awoke to a new day, though his mind was still heavy. His body was well rested but his mind was still exhausted. His dreams were filled with the cries of his kin, those that had died; those he had killed. He looked to the window and saw that the sun was soon to rise, and he realized that now would be the best time to leave. Eventually the Jiralhanae would show up, whatever they were, and he knew that staying in a city would not be wise. He needed to get out of the city and into the countryside; far away from anyone that would care if he was there or not. He was finished, done with the Covenant and the Mirratord; he was running away -- again.

He motioned to stand and noticed that the door to his room was opening. Instinctively he gripped his sword hilt and powered it on in one swift swing. He reared back to stab the unsuspecting visitor and then saw the side of the young female's face as she crossed the door's threshold. He powered off the hilt and quickly affixed it his belt.

Stunned, he pulled himself away from the door. "What am I doing?" He questioned to himself.

The young female entered the room with a tray of food, cooked and well prepared. "I thought you could use a hot meal." She placed the tray in the center of the room and waited for Simyaldee to turn to face her. He looked back and she instantly knelt to the floor. She then pushed the tray of food toward him, motioning for him to eat.

Simyaldee had forgotten what it was like to have a female around. From birth most of them were trained to respect the Warriors and to cater to their needs. After all, the Warriors of the Covenant were on a Holy Crusade. Simyaldee slowly approached the tray and knelt down to eat.

The female smiled softly and bowed. "I must go and feed my brother and father now. If you have need of anything, please call." She stood and motioned toward the door.

Simyaldee shoved and hand full of food into his mouth and then spoke, "Where is your mate?"

She paused at the door. "I do not have one." She turned at the door and watched as Simyaldee continued to eat his fill upon the freshly cooked spread. "I am a simple farmer's daughter, and have only been courted by other farmers…"

Simyaldee looked up. "Then you are aware of your class, nothing can be done if you are merely a farmers daughters. However…" Simyaldee wiped his lower mandibles with the back of his hand, "return to me once you have finished feeding your kin. I will tell you what has happened."

"Thank you, warrior. I am in your debt." She quickly exited the room and Simyaldee slouched back into his corner. The female had fed him, and considering her lower class he found that he needed to repay her services. Plus it was warming to have someone to talk to.

Time slipped away, and the female returned. She closed the door behind her as she entered and knelt at Simyaldee's feet. He glared at her for a moment, realizing that for a lower class female she was quite shapely in his eyes. She had astonishing features that presented themselves very well for a breeder. But currently, Simyaldee had to stay focused, and decide on what his next course of action would be.

"I was … ordered to stay behind." Simyaldee lied, telling her the truth would only endanger her life more then it already was. "This world is no longer safe as it is on the edge of another race. A new race that we intend to bring into our fold."

"A new race?" She questioned. "Who are they?"

"I can not say at the moment. But my duty …" Simyaldee froze. He couldn't do it. The pain of his actions was weighing heavily upon his soul. "I have no duty. I have no place. I am no warrior. I have seen and done too much to maintain my rank within the Covenant."

"A heretic?" She cautiously questioned. Her eyes grew wide, fearing that she had said too much. Calling anyone a 'Heretic' was considered the lowest possible insult if you were a member of the Covenant, yet Simyaldee did not react.

"Perhaps." He stood. "Perhaps I am. I did not want to hurt my own kin… I never dreamed that I would be called to do such a thing. But now, I have done that which I dread the most." He turned and looked down at the young female setting before him. "Do you fear me?"

"No. You must have had your reasons. I understand clearly how we kin can turn against our own. My father's wounds can testify to that. I fear he will not last the day; all for a few peaces of bread, fruit and meat." There was something heavy in her statement, and it appeared that it had more meaning to it then just her dieing father. Simyaldee took notice that she seemed to be carrying some form of self hate within her. A feeling he understood all too well.

Simyaldee leaned against the window sill and crossed his arms upon his armored chest. "In one day, I watched my master die, and spilled the blood of my kin. I did not join the Covenant to kill my own."

"You were ordered to kill our kin?" She questioned.

"In a matter of speaking." He replied. "Moving on, I suggest you and your younger sibling flee this place; if your father can not travel it is best to leave him behind. No city will be safe when the Jiralhanae arrive. I suggest you retreat to a distant jungle or mountain side, though your best option is to leave this world. If this new race does come here, there is no telling what they will do." Simyaldee gripped his bag of supplies, shoulder them and began to walk to the door.

"Jiralhanae?" She questioned, pondering the name loosely with her tongue. Simyaldee didn't care if she knew. Chances are they were all going to die anyway. "What will you do?" She looked to Simyaldee for answers.

"There is a valley several miles to the west. It is a three day journey. It is hidden and I know the area well."

"Allow us to travel with you." She shuffled closer to Simyaldee's feet, nearly pleading with him. She was a simple farmer's daughter, a lower class then Simyaldee's political bloodline. His father was once a great member of the High Council, till the Prophets ordered his murder, yet still his name carried much weight throughout the Sangheili race. For a farmer, there was no honor in her family name, and for this fact alone their name was unspoken.

Simyaldee weighed his options. He could easily survive on his own, his survival training would guarantee that, but she was a farmer. She knew weather patterns, crop soils and healing herbs. She could be invaluable to his long term survival on this planet if things go well. Yet, if these Jiralhanae creatures did find him and his camp, he would not be able to vanish with two young farmers at his side. Stealth would be the key to surviving in this new world.

Clearly, Simyaldee had a decision to make.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Mausoleum of the Arbiter  
_High Charity_  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 15, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The cleaning patrol of grunts hurried about their daily chores, dusting the mighty graves of the fallen heroes of the Sangheili race; the Arbiters. Each their duty served to the Covenant, and for the Sangheili race, giving their lives as sacrifices to a greater cause. It had been many years since an Arbiter was called into service, and it nearly destroyed the entire structure of the Covenant. It was called the Grunt Rebellion, and many Sangheili fell in the battle upon High Charity. Millions of Unggoy slaves turned against their squad captains, all for the hope that the king of the Unggoy would bring change in how they were treated, or to help them escape their cruel masters. Yet the Rebellion was kindled, due largely to the deeds of the Arbiter, as he sacrificed his life in battle with the Grunt King. Though the Arbiter died, the Grunt King also fell in the battle, and seeing their king die was a monstrous blow to the Unggoy pride; they easily surrendered.

Once again the Unggoy were nothing more than slaves and grunts for the Covenant armada, continuing to do all of the lowly chores and tasks that brought upon their rebellion in the first place. But at this moment the room was needed for a secret meeting on a scale far higher than anyone thought possible; a gathering of the Mirratord.

Balmaedee was the first to enter, along with several Mirratord Elites dressed in the armor of the Special Operations. With a deep "wort" he startled every grunt in the room."Be gone!" he quickly ordered. The grunts frantically raced from the room, some leaving their cleaning utensils as the scurried hastily out the door.

The Mausoleum was the one room where the Mirratord could meet upon High Charity, and not fear that the Prophet's were listening. It was easily understood as a sanctuary as the room was sacred to the Elites, and the other races of the Covenant did not care much for the Elites "holy" warrior.

Balmaedee turned to M'atralee, "Select the guards for this meeting and begin the signal sweep." M'atralee nodded his response and walked away; pointing toward two Special Operations' Mirratord to follow him. The door parted and in walked several more Elites, this time in golden armor, Ship Masters. The door closed behind them as the two guards exited and took their place outside the Mausoleum doors.

M'atralee held a small pad in his hand and began to scan the room. Suddenly every Elite's private com began to burst with static, forcing them to turn them off. M'atralee then nodded toward Balmaedee with approval, confirming that all signals within the Mausoleum had been jammed; no transmission in or out of the room were permitted, including video surveillance.

Balmaedee returned the nodded. "All signals in the room have been disrupted."

With those words each of the Mirratord warriors within the room bowed before Balmaedee, affirming his place and rank as 'Second' amongst them.

"Status reports." Balmaedee questioned.

A Ship Master Mirratord stepped forward. "The High Council has reported great news from the meeting in Jogrennilee. The capital is in uproar at the Prophets decision to abandon the outpost world. High Elder Da'ylmeo will be sending a full encrypted transmission shortly. It is a good day for distrust."

"Indeed." Balmaedee smirked. "Finally, more of the Prophets fault is being revealed to our kin."

Another Ship Master spoke up. "Yet we do not know if it wise to fully distrust the Prophets. They have brought us many wonders, and their knowledge of the Gods is indisputable. We should tread softly in our spewing of hatred and lies."

Several other Mirratord agreed with this ship master's words. "Agreed." Balmadee added. "As always, Domadree, your words are wise. We can not speak angrily without fact."

"Will you be informing us on what you learned during your mission?" Domadree questioned.

"In time. I await the council's presence." Balmaedee stated to the group. "For now, are their any other reports?"

"There was another unscheduled Heretic uprising in the M'asion district three days ago." Spoke a Spec-Ops. "Rumor has it that a young male found Forerunner Artifacts and deciphered its meaning. From what was reported he and several dozen Watchmen rebelled against their Prophet Prefecture after understanding its words. This caused massive civil unrest. However, by the time the council had dispatched at team, the situation had been kindled. The Watchmen were slain as Heretics and the object was not found. We questioned many, but there was no proof about the young Watchmen's acts."

Many grumblings began amongst the gathered Mirratord as Domadree spoke up. "This is the fifth unscheduled Heretic attack in this rotation!" Domadree roared. "And Watchmen were the victims. These outbreaks must stop. Our young must not fall off the path or else we ourselves will be forced to spill their blood. How much will it cost us if we continue to spread doubt about the Prophets and our Gods?"

The door to the chamber closed as several silver armored Sangheili stepped into the Mausoleum; their massive helmets brilliantly resting upon their heads. "Domadree, you are always the voice of reason." Spoke the lead councilor.

Domadree bowed in honor, followed by the other Mirratord warriors. "Forgive my outcry elder, but I merely speak the truth. Our young are easily affected by the rumors of the Prophets. Defiance in the Prophets will become rampant if this continues, and our young will be the first to respond. We can not allow their blood to be shed because of our acts."

The eight councilors assigned to High Charity stood in the center of the Mirratord warriors, as the eldest amongst them questioned Domadree. "What will you have us to do?"

"Halt some of these Heretic outbreaks. Even the scheduled Heretic sects must be ordered to disassemble. At least halt them until we find proof that the Prophets do not have our best wishes at heart."

Several warriors and a few councilors nodded in approval. "Second, what is your suggestion?" All eyes turned to Balmaedee.

"The news that our young began to turn against the prophets is troubling." He pondered his words. "I agree with Domadree. For now, we should contact all of our established underground Heretic Sects and order them to end their protests. Also, I will assign a team to hunt down rogue Heretic Sects and … silence them. Yet this does not grant the Prophets any merit. We are simply attempting to slow down this plasma fire before it burns out of control."

"Even with your youth, that was spoken true to your family's wisdom." The elder smiled. "We shall send word immediately. Any heretic actions after this meeting will not be for our cause. I grant full lethal force to your search team, if it is needed to silence the rogue sects. Now let us divert our attention to the matter at hand. We shall make this quick so that you may continue to debrief the Mirratord, Second. Step forward young Simyaldee."

Balmaedee huffed softly. "Elders, Simyaldee did not return from his previous mission. We were separated and …"

"Is he dead?" One of the rear elders questioned.

"No."

"Then why is he not here, Second?" The lead elder's patience was held only by the thickness of his skin.

"He did not return to the extraction point. However, no reports of his Identity have been placed on the deceased records. We believe he is still on the outpost world."

The lead elder turned to the door in the distance and gazed at the shadows. "How long till the Jiralhanae arrive on the outpost?"

A voice answered back from the shadows. "Another six days. Their Chieftan and his court will be given a tour of the planet." Balmaedee recognized the Sangheili's voice, it was the Spec Ops Commander. He normally did not come to the meetings as his face was usually at the beckon of the Supreme Commander. Even more dawnting to Balmaedee was the fact they he already knew of the Jiralhanae. "Council, I do not need to enforce how urgent it is that we find him before the Jiralhanae do."

"You have made it quite clear of his importance, First." The lead elder stated. "And we are aware of his importance to our cause. However, since he is not here we have no need of you. Report back to the Fleet Master's side. And also, be prepared to speak with the Hierarchs. I am quite certain that Punishment's death will not be taken lightly."

The commander shouted back from the shadows. "Then I shall take my leave. Second, find him and bring him back. Select your team and go. Do not fail me." The door opened and the Commander made his exit.

The elder turned to Balmaedee. "You have your orders, Second. This meeting is adjourned. We will continue once the Second has returned with our youngest brother."

- - - - - - - -

Had he made the right decision? The question boiled in his mind as if to haunt him for the remainder of his life. Simyaldee had to do what he felt would be best. He stopped at the edge of town and looked to the distant road ahead of him. Soon the pavement would turn into a dusty trail, and then a grassy plain. He had a full day of sunlight as his guide

The Master's training camp was one of the most guarded secrets of his home, for fear that the Sangheili youth that were trained there would be deemed 'unfit' by the Prophets. Only those warriors that trained at the camp knew of its location, and the Prophet of Punishment did not have the chance to share what he had learned from the Master. The training camp would be his home, his escape from the Covenant.

But still, a lingering thought echoed in his mind. What if his decision was wrong? He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. He had left them behind, a female and her younger sibling, to face their own future. He could not support them, or protect them, as Simyaldee knew that his own hands had been stained with too much Sangheili blood. There was no honor in killing his kin, and killing one Prophet did not outweigh their sacrifices.

He stepped forward, struggling mentally to forget the young female he had to leave behind. He had told her to go to the space port, steal a ship, and fly away; far--far away. He showed her how to pilot the ship, the basics of Seraph controls. She could do it, she had to; her life depended upon it. Besides, unless she entered combat, the automated pilot would take her to any coordinates she entered.

"Yes." Simyaldee stated to himself. "I made the right decision. She will be fine alone." He trekked forward, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and pressed forward on his three day journey.

- - - - - - - -

At the edge of town, the young female watched as Simyaldee began his trek off of the paved road. With her were her younger sibling and several other young males. She turned to them and stated; "I will follow him, the rest of you get Father to the ship and meet us at my signal location. He said it was a three day journey, but if what he said was correct then we may not have much time before these Jiralhanae arrive."

"Elder sister, what will we do?" One of the males questioned. "He is a warrior, we are but farmers. If provoked he could easily kill us."

"No, his heart is heavy with regret, and we can use that to our advantage. We were able to survive for the passed eight days by taking what we needed from the few stragglers that were left behind, and we will survive longer if we have a true warrior in our ranks. We can't fight him, but we can make him join us."

"But elder sister, you will be putting yourself at great risk. Father was wounded in our last attack; we can not risk you to parish. Only you can carry on our family bloodline."

"I understand your concern, but we can not miss this opportunity. The Covenant calls us Heretics, but we know the truth. The prophets are liars! And I would rather see our bloodline end then to be oppressed by the Covenant. Now, get father to the ship that the warrior spoke of. I will take our youngest brother with me. Be careful and wait for my signal. In three days I will have the Warrior join our clan and make him mine. Or slay him."

**To be continued…  
**

* * *

**Notes: Short chapter this time, and more of a character progression chapter. The next section will be more focused on the Covenant Side and the "cover up" for the outpost world. Plenty of action in the next chapter as well, plus the reason why the Drones (Yanmee') are so important to the Covenant. Every race has a role.**

**-soulguard **

**  
**


	7. Union of Heresy, Union of Faith

**Section 7: Union of Heresy, Union of Faith**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Covenant High Council Meeting hall  
_High Charity_  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 15, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

"Walk with me, Commander." Truth turned his hovering throne chair and began to float toward the exit of the Meeting Hall. At his side walked the Elite Spec Ops commander, R'tas Vadumee. In a procession behind them walked the mighty Sangheili Honor Guards, hand picked by Truth and Mercy to protect them at all times.

Truth dared not to face the young Special Operations Commander, and instead spoke to him while looking forward, nearly ignoring his presence. "We are fortunate that the Prophet of Punishment was not a Hierarch, Commander. Placing him under your Special Operations protection seemed to be the wisest of choices, yet now we are at a crossroad. This can not go unpunished."

"I fully understand your disappointment, Holy One. The loss of one of our leaders has still not fully registered within me. Once the ship arrives from the outpost world, I will speak to the Spec Ops division leader myself, and attempt to uncover this travesty."

"Travesty?" Truth mumbled to himself. "It is more than that, Commander. For centuries we Prophets have trusted the Sangheili as our safeguard, yet in one day we lost four of our brothers… and one of them was a high ranking official. The news of this event has not spread, because of the victory against the Yanmee', but be weary that there will be outcries from the other Prophets. Noble Mercy is already preparing our statement to the Covenant about this matter, but I want to know the truth." Mercy stopped his forward progress and turned toward the Commander; finally looking at him. "Was it a Heretic, or was he assassinated?"

The Commander knew the answer, but could not dream of revealing such facts. "I will do all that I can to uncover what has happened. But I will say that it was done by professionals."

Truth leaned forward, curious, questioning. "What do you suspect?"

"Highly trained Sangheili agents. Perhaps they were Heretic insurgents that we are not aware of. Or, I fear, a traitor could be amongst us."

R'tas Vadumee, as the newest Commander of the Special Operations division, had undergone many years of training in espionage, spying, torture, command, and deceit. He knew that throwing the Hierarchs off his trail would mean more than simply lying to them, he would need to tell them the truth; or a falsified version of it. He had been commander for only a short term, but he was well aware of the cunning of the Prophets. Yet the hologram image of Halo, which he had seen deep inside the Yanmee' nest, still burned into his eyes; its majesty, size and power, all in the form of a simple hologram. He could not forget that he had seen the prize of the Covenant Union, the goal that the Covenant had sought for hundreds of years, and crossed billions of light years to reach. He would not give up the Mirratord Secret, but he would be as honest with the Prophets as he could.

R'tas Vadumee had finally become a believer in the Covenant. He did not believe in the Prophets, but he knew that they truly did know the path of the Great Journey.

"Traitors?" Truth questioned as he turned toward the exit. "Tell me, Commander. How strong is your faith?"

"My faith is strong, Holy One. I give my life to the will of the Covenant."

"Prove it." Truth softly stated. "Find the killer and bring him before the Council and we will publicly execute him. This is my first decree to you, young warrior. You come with high recommendations from your kin, yet your youth and inexperience has me questioning your abilities. Return to me when you have completed this assignment."

Truth and his escorts exited the room as the Commander stood in the foyer door. He turned to another path and proudly walked the darkened hallway of High Charity. This was his first meeting with the Holy Hierarch known as Truth. Unlike Regret, Truth was a very cautious speaker. The Commander sensed it early that he was not a Prophet that would easily mix words. Truth was smart, the second wisest of the three Hierarchs, but was clearly their group leader. Pulling the wool over Truth's eyes was not going to be an easy task.

The door parted and the Commander saw the Supreme Commander of the _Fleet of Divine Light_ waiting patiently for his update. "Ah, Commander, finally you have arrived." At the Supreme Commander's side stood several red armored Sangheili; his bodyguards when off ship. "I hope your conversation with the Hierarchs went well."

"Yes. However, there is much work to be done. The Council has not released the facts that four Prophets are dead, including Punishment, yet it will only be a matter of time before such information becomes public knowledge. We must find that killer. I suspect a Heretic to be in our ranks, one of incredible skill, but for now we must speak with the Spec Ops division leader aboard that ship. I request your leave, Supreme Commander."

"Granted. The ship in which contains Punishment's body is due to arrive shortly; _The Truth and Reconciliation._ It will be removed from service so that you can perform your investigation. Also, that ship and its crew are due to be transferred to the _Fleet of Particular Justice_ at the end of this Rotation. Keep that in mind, as that means that the ship will be sent to the front line."

"Thank you, Supreme Commander." The commander nodded and began his long walk to the outer docking ring.

- - - - - - - -

Truth floated into the Inner Sanctum and waved off his royal Honor Guards. His mind was in deep thought, "If the Commander dives too deep into this search, he may uncover the torture chamber. However, those amongst us who knew of its existence are now dead. But even in death, this secret could cause great unrest in our control. I must make the Commander understand and fully devout his life to the will of the Covenant. Though he is young, he is highly intelligent. Perhaps there is a way to make him my personal informant."

Truth noticed that his arm rest was glowing, signaling that he had received a private transmission; noted from Regret. He pressed the button and listened closely. "_Noble Truth and Mercy, brothers rejoice. The second phase of our deed has begun. Now that the Yanmee' have returned to their duties of repairing our ships, I have sent three of my cruisers to the Outpost World to search for any "stragglers" that may have been left behind. Be joyful that this group will represent the Covenant well in their mission. Though they will fail, we can be assured that the Jiralhanae will be pleased with the battle. The Migration Plan has begun. Soon, the Jiralhanae will also be at our side._"

Truth terminated the transmission, "At least I can be assured that this will go smoothly. The Jiralhanae will bathe themselves in combat, and then join our might." Truth turned on his recorder to reply to Regret's transmission. "Holy Regret, honorable Mercy, this brings me much satisfaction. This will in no doubt spear head our union into absolution. Yet, we must prepare, the Sangheili will wish to avenge their honor and fallen kin. When this battle is over, a new war will begin, the Sangheili will rush to the aid of their fallen brothers and we will intervene and establish peace. There will be much bloodshed, yet it will all be for the glory of the Great Journey."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Outpost world  
Former home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
March 17, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

He was being tracked, and whoever they were they were skilled at it. Simyaldee continued his normal pace, trying not to reveal that he was aware of his pursuers. The sun would set soon, and under the shroud of darkness he could double back and see who his they were. They were skilled, but not nearly skilled enough. Simyaldee knew the terrain, he had trained in these foothills for three years under his master, and he was a trained Sangheili warrior. He would not be caught off guard.

The sun slowly nestled behind the high distant peeks of a mountain range, glowing pink-orange as the night blues filled the overhead sky. The blue line of the sky retreated from the darkness of space, as the sun finally vanished from eyesight. Simyaldee slowly turned a bend, leading toward a shallow river bed, an old rest stop that he and his kin had found during their constant training hikes. He leapt into the trees, assuring that his tracks would vanish, and jumped several yards to a patch of low lying grass.

If they wanted to track him, this would surely throw them off his trail long enough for him to find out who they were. Simyaldee made his way back toward the chasers, hoping to see them before they turned the bend. His plan was a success, and he huffed in frustration at what he saw. He stepped clear of his cover in the darkened shadows of a line of trees, and startled the two young elites that had ignored his early instructions. Startled, the young female gripped her younger brother and placed herself between him and Simyaldee.

Simyaldee stepped closer, towering over the young female, and placed his head merely inches from her own in a display of dominance. "Why are you following me? I told you to take the ship and leave!"

The young female lowered her head and averted her eyes. "There were others with us, and I sent them ahead. A small ship will not be enough to get us off world…."

"Others?" Simyaldee huffed. "Is there anything else you would like to share?"

She could sense Simyaldee's anger, and decided that perhaps now would be the appropriate time to tell him the truth. "You said you were headed to a valley, we are going with you. You have been walking for two days, and your supplies are running low, meaning you would not risk going to far from your path to simply shake us off your trail. In fact, I am sure of it."

"And what of these others, you mentioned? Where are they?"

"With the ship, I hope. They will come to me when I summon them." She exposed a wrist communicator, though it was damaged. "The communications system is destroyed, but the tracking signal works. They will come once I turn it on."

Simyaldee pulled back from the female and huffed. "I did not leave my path. Come, we still have a ways to go." He was somewhat concerned. This young female was smarter then she was leading on. The wrist unit she wore was of military design, and had been damaged by plasma fire, yet she knew how it worked and what its capabilities were. This was not something that a young female farmer should know. She was up to something, and for now Simyaldee had decided to play it through, though he was not going to let his guard down.

- - - - - - - -

The old camp was well kept, and even though it had been many years since Simyaldee had seen it, it was still the same. Fresh hoof prints were scattered about, meaning that the camp had been used, perhaps by the Master's final class of young. He wondered if they graduated successfully, of if the Master vanished before their training was complete. Simyaldee let his eyes pass around the camp, spotting the patches of mud from sparing pits, rows of crushed grass from formation lines, and even the obstacle course where he frequently placed first. The memories swelled within him and how stupid he was when he was here. He hated the training camp. He hated the conditioning and the teachings. He hated the teachers and the instructors, but mostly he hated his master.

Yet, on the eve of his final month at the camp, everything changed. The teachings of the master, the instructors and the teachers finally began to make sense. And he understood why the master was so tuff on him.

Simyaldee was needed in order to lead a new generation of Elite.

The master knew of Simyaldee's bloodline, his family heritage, and what it meant to carry his genes. But he didn't want to be a soldier, he didn't want to go into the academy or become a Watchman. He was young, angry and stupid. Yet even now, after all the years of training in the Academy, Simyaldee knew that he was still stupid. He didn't want to fight simply because of his bloodline, or because his father was a great leader within the High Council. But at the same time he did want the Prophets to pay for what they did to his father. He thought the Mirratord would be what he needed, but the Mirratord no longer seemed like the right path for him.

The midday sun rose overhead and Simyaldee sat in the shade of tree. The female's younger brother happily played on the obstacle course while the young female waited at the edge of the camp. A Seraph fighter descended into view and came to a rest several yards away in a field of wild grass. She happily raced toward the fighter as three males exited, carrying the prone body of the females father. Simyaldee was curious as to how four of them could fit inside a ship designed for two, but things were weird enough already.

His thoughts were then interrupted by a small tap on his shoulder. "Can you teach me?" The young male questioned.

"Teach you what, little one?" Simyaldee returned.

"To be a warrior like you."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Outpost world  
Former home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
March 21, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

"If this is a game, Prophet, I will have your head!" The snarl of words exited a monstrous mouth bustling with large clever like teeth. His white fur glowed brilliantly in the lights of his ship's bridge as he glared at the view screen.

"I promise you, Chieftain, this is not a ruse." The Prophet returned from the other end of the video display. The massive Jiralhanae gazed through the forward portal as the outpost world came into view. The air was clean and its oceans were deep blue. "Report!" The chieftain snarled to his crew.

"There is one ship in high orbit; two more are hovering over the planets largest city; on the eastern continent."

The Chieftain returned to the display of the Prophet. "Your Hierarchs have shown us quite the welcome, yet we will see how well we like it when we land. I can assume there are plenty of prizes waiting for us with those ships?"

"Oh yes, they are called the Sangheili, and I'm sure there will be plenty of them for your spoils. You can test your strength against them, and see that our Covenant is far stronger than you thought. However, it will be an honor to have you as a part of our Holy crusade."

"The Gods of our ancestor call us to battle, Prophet, and only the strong survive. If these, Sangheili, are truly as strong as you say, then we will have much to discuss. However, if they are as weak and political in mind as you… then the Jiralhanae will wipe out every trace of your pathetic Covenant, and feed you the scraps of your own kin."

"Helm, take us to the largest city and prepare a landing team. Let us see what the army of the Covenant can do." The Jiralhanae ship sped ahead, followed by four similar ships.

The Covenant carrier in orbit quickly noticed their descent, and the Sangheili crew quickly began to act. "Ship master, they are advancing toward the outpost world. Your orders?"

"Have they responded to hails?"

"No Sir. All com attempts have been transmitted, but no response."

"The lead ship, have we found a call sign?"

"Negative sir. It is an older design, but clearly one of ours. The ship database can not find it in our logs."

"Why are they here, and not answering our hails?" The ship master pondered. "Is it the Expeditionary Force?"

"No sir, the Expeditionary Force's last report confirmed that they were at least two years away and still heading toward the distant star."

"What of the Luminous Key? Any contacts with it?"

"Engineering confirms contacts with the Luminous Key. Data is being uploaded. We have it! The lead ship is… by the Gods… it is the _Heaven's Whisper_." The command crew of the Sangheili ship erupted into a roar of confusion.

"That ship was presumed destroyed during the Unggoy Rebellion… what about the other ships."

"_Desperate Sacrifice, The Spirit and Flame, Holy Chronicler, and_ …."

The ship master interrupted, "_The Dawn of Life_."

"Yes Sir. All confirmed sunk during the Unggoy Rebillion."

The ship master thumbed his lower left mandible and then folded his arms. "They were sunk, I was there. I saw them burned from the skies as the grunts overloaded the engines. These are new ships, but the Luminous Key's must have been taken from their wreckage after the war."

"Do you believe the Unggoy are in command now?"

"No. But perhaps this is why the Prophets ordered us to abandon this outpost; for our safety. They are forever wise in their decisions." The crew nodded in approval. "Notify the landing teams. Helm, move the ship to an intercept course. If they don't answer us this time, then they will not pass. Charge the shields and plasma cannons. All hands, prepare for combat."

- - - - - - - -

Unaware of the battle which was beginning on the opposite side of the planet, Simyaldee and the girl's family prepared for another night. The young male was exhausted after another day of running through the obstacle course and a full day's hike around the camp. Simyaldee found some joy in teaching the young child what his master had taught him, though not as aggressively. But even after four days of being with the family of farmers, Simyaldee was not going to let his guard down.

He sat beside the fire to warm his hands as two of the males also attempted to stay warm. "Tell me, warrior, how much combat have you seen?"

Simyaldee lowered his head and gazed into the fire. "One battle."

There was rustling of leaves behind him as the female approached. "Would this be the same battle in which you had to spill the blood of our own?" She sat at Simyaldee's side, attentive to his every word.

"Indeed. It is nothing that I am proud of."

"No one should be proud of killing their own." She softly replied. Again, Simyaldee noted the sadness upon her face, she knew his pain. She suddenly lifted her head and looked to her two younger brothers. "They would have been old enough to enter the academy this year. In two years, the third oldest would have reached the age, and then finally the youngest of my brothers in five years. But we are simple farmers in the eyes of the Covenant, no matter how hard we tried to break free of our heritage…"

"Elder sister, it is alright. We must accept what we can not change."

"No!" She snapped in return. "Mother slaved her life away, and for what, to be seen as a second rate member of our own race? This is the Prophets' doing. They bring division, hatred and false preaching."

Simyaldee looked to her oddly, "You speak with the passion of a Heretic." A sudden silence filled the area around the campfire, and the female looked to her two brothers. They suddenly stood and walked away. "Why are they leaving?"

Ignoring Simyaldee's question, she replied, "What if I were a Heretic?" She rolled to her knees, and placed her head under Simyaldee's chin. "What if I defied the laws of the Covenant for the sake of my family? What if I told you that my father was not attacked, but instead he was tortured by a Prophet seeking information?" Simyaldee sat motionless, letting the female talk and cuddle within the warmth of his chest. "They were looking for a warrior, a warrior with no name."

Simyaldee felt his heart stop.

"My father knew him, and told them what they wanted to know" She pulled her legs into her chest and relaxed inside Simyaldee's embrace, though she had not noticed his shocked disposition. "They caught this warrior and released my father, though my father was so close to death that I did not think he would survive this long. I understand your hatred for the Covenant; these Prophets are liars… and I will never believe anything they say. According to the Covenant, that makes us Heretics."

Simyaldee rested his head upon the top of the female's head. "The warrior with no name … he was also called, master."

She suddenly pulled away. "He was your master?"

Without warning, the area began to glow. A flame pulsed up above as it slowly streaked across the sky. All eyes turned upward as the once dark region was now engulfed in the light of burning cruiser.

"I thought the fleet had left?" The young female questioned. "Is this the Jiralhanae?"

Simyaldee glared at the burning wreckage as it began to pulse with secondary explosions and plasma fires. "No, that is a cruiser… perhaps a search team. Though I do not believe anyone is still alive on that ship. It was hit by plasma fire, most likely in orbit. It is going to crash. I need to check the com channels to see what's going on up there." Simyaldee raced to the edge of the camp where the Seraph had been covered in dried grass to conceal it. The Seraph's com system was much stronger then his stolen armor, and would allow for him to listen in on the battle net of many frequencies. Yet as he approached the ship he spotted the black armor of a Sangheili warrior.

He walked closer but the warrior was still gazing at the sinking ship in the sky, with his back to Simyaldee. Whoever he was, he had snuck into the camp on foot, there were no signs of vehicles nearby. Simyaldee didn't know who it was, but wasn't going to take a chance. The warrior was Spec Ops, and clearly not meant to be taken lightly.

Simyaldee was unarmed, but stealthy snuck closer to the unsuspecting warrior, but a quick rustling of grass filled his ear. Someone was coming up from his blind side, Simyaldee senses kicked in, whoever these warriors were they were skilled. Simyaldee twisted his hips, dipped his knee and caught the surprise attacker off guard. Simyaldee spun and caught the Warrior in the back of the head with his elbow.

"Calm yourself, brother." Stated a groggy, yet familiar, voice.

Simyaldee stepped away from the Sangheili that he had just subdued, and watched as he slowly stood. "M'atralee?" Simyaldee then looked to see that the warrior who was gazing at the sky had finally turned around. "Second? How did you know I was here?"

Balmaedee stepped closer to Simyaldee. "Where else would you go on a world that was about to be conquered? I assumed you would come here, to this place of our Mirratord birth. We were going to let you enjoy one last night with your new mate, but the battle in orbit is getting out of control. We have orders to extract you back to High Charity… however… I do not think we can leave in the midst of this. When we arrived we expected to see the Jiralhanae, but both groups arrived at the same time; two cruisers and a carrier from the Covenant, and then the Jiralhanae battle group."

"There was nothing mentioned that Covenant ships would be here. Was this planned?" Simyaldee questioned.

"It is the most obvious conclusion." Balmaedee replied. "Those ships are from Regret's battle group. I've been monitoring their transmissions. They came to verify that the planet was completely evacuated. Clearly a lie."

"I am quite sure of that." M'atralee stated; rubbing the back of his head. "A team would have been sent here several days ago to confirm that the planet was empty. They would not have waited more than a week. But no matter, let us not forget why we came back, second." He turned to Simyaldee. "What happened to you, brother? Why did you not meet us at the extraction point? Tell me it is not because of that female."

"No. It is not because of her. I simply… I chose not to come back. I will never go back to the Covenant."

"The Covenant?" M'atralee laughed. "Brother, you are not here for the Covenant."

Balmaedee added. "You have been called to the service of the Sangheili, young one. Have you not understood this?"

"I do not wish to kill my own kin." Simyaldee softly added. "I can not be involved in any more acts like those I committed for the sake of the Mirratord."

"Guard your words, we are no longer alone." Balmaedee nodded his head and they all watched as the young female raced toward them.

"Simyaldee, is everything… who are they?" She quickly pulled up a plasma rifle and took aim at M'atralee.

"They are friends, do not alarm yourself. They came to find me, and bring me back." Simyaldee turned and walked towards her. The female lowered her weapon.

"Teaching the farmers how to fight, Simyaldee?" M'atralee laughed.

Balmaedee snared loudly at him in return. "Show the respect you were taught!" M'atralee didn't understand Balmaedee's anger, but watched as he walked closer toward her. "I could never forget your scent, my lady." Balmaedee knelt at her feet, but she eagerly attempted to make him stand.

"Warrior, you must have me mistaken for another. Please stand." She was somewhat panicked at the moment.

Balmaedee stood. "I did not recognize you from afar, but there is no doubt. Your grandfather, served in the Unggoy Rebellion, we have studied his teachings and war strategies since our birth. Princess, why are you hiding as a farmer?"

"Princess?" Simyaldee questioned as he looked to her.

"Yes, brother. Your new mate is a descendant of the last Arbiter. She is of royal blood." The young female stepped away from Simyaldee, torn by the fact that her identity had been revealed, and the even darker secret which she held deep within.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, ashamed to recall the name she had shed so long ago. "Simyaldee, my name is Vasmeola."

M'atralee stood, mouth agape, gazing at the young female. "You are from the House of Vas? Why are you living your life as a farmer? You have royal blood."

"The House of Vas was divided when my grandfather died during the Rebellion. And when my father heard that our home was going to be ruled by Prophets, he could no longer hold his anger. He left the Covenant, and we chose to stay here. We know the truth of the Prophets' lies and their deceit to confuse us with false hopes. My father has done what he could to share what he knows, but no one will listen. We stayed here, our only chance to escape from the Covenant's grasp."

Simyaldee seemed torn, yet he still felt that she was not sharing everything. "Why did you not tell me?"

"You are a warrior under the flag of the Covenant. Though you have your doubts about your actions, I could not risk telling you."

"There is no time for this." Balmaedee intervened. "Simyaldee, get your gear and let us depart. We will do what we can to help our brothers in this battle, but we must go… now!"

M'atralee gave Simyaldee a satchel of equipment, some that Simyaldee had never seen. "Equip the new shield emitter to your armor, discard the old one."

"What is it?" Simyaldee asked as he pulled the emitter from the satchel.

"It is a new shield emitter. It is the best in the covenant, and designed by 'our' weapons division. You will not see them in use by the standard infantry. It is something to give us a slight advantage during our missions. But they are merely prototypes, and only three of them exist so far. We are wearing them."

Simyaldee gripped the satchel and gave it back to M'atralee. "I do not need it. I'm not leaving."

Balmaedee glared at Simyaldee sternly, and clinched his mandibles tightly. His first step was quick and caught Simyaldee without warning. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Balmaedee had gripped him by the neck and had pinned him to the ground. Struggle as he might, Simyaldee could not escape Balmaedee's grip.

"You made a vow. Have you forgotten that vow? This is beyond you, brother. This is a matter of your oath; your oath to the Sangheili race!"

Vasmeola had once again pulled up her plasma rifle, but it was quickly knocked away by M'atralee. "Forgive my rudeness, but I can not let you interfere." He stated. Vasmeola could only watch as Balmaedee snarled his orders to Simyaldee.

"You will get your armor. You will come with us to our ship. You will help us fight. And you will come back to High Charity with us. If you say 'no', you will die."

The roar of seraph fighter whined overhead, followed by explosions. A group of the fighters where fighting, guarding a carrier that was quickly passing over the camp, heading toward the city several dozen miles away. Simyaldee had no choice but to yield. The battle was getting to close to the camp, hiding would be impossible. This was not what he was expecting; no one could have predicted this. The outpost world was going to become a battlefield.

"Do you understand?" Balmaedee questioned as he released his grip.

Simyaldee understood, though he didn't like it. He had to accept his vow, his vow to his kin, to protect them even from themselves. There was so much he had yet to fully understand about the Mirratord, and Balmaedee had made it painfully clear that leaving the group was punishable by death.

M'atralee placed his hand to the side of his helmet, listening in on the communications being shouted over the battle net. "The Covenant ships are requesting support from the _Fleet of Divine Light_."

Balmaedee added. "Soon the skies will be full of our ships and this world will become a battlefield. We know nothing of these Jiralhanae, but we must follow the will of the council." Simyaldee reluctantly turned and raced into the camp, running to his armor.

Vasmeola began to follow, but Balmaedee grabbed her. "Gather what you can, we are getting you out of here."

"My family and I will not be going back to the Covenant. We are considered Heretics."

Balmaedee raised his lower mandibles into the elite form of a smile. "That is exactly why you must come back with us."

Simyaldee sprinted into the camp, using his powerful legs to stride across the training grounds. He watched as Vasmeola's brothers gazed into the sky, at the fighting that raged on in the distance. His eyes then caught the burning campfire in the center of the camp.

"Damn." He hadn't thought clearly. "Young ones! Put out the flame, it will show up on the Seraph's sensors and draw attention to us!" The young males quickly jumped to action, stomping out the large fire as quickly as they could. The youngest male, the one that Simyaldee had been teaching, was digging dirt and tossing it into the fire; but it was all for nothing.

"Warrior, behind you!" Shouted one of the young. Simyaldee turned as a Seraph fighter hovered over the distant tree line; gazing into the camp. Friend or foe? Simyaldee had no way of knowing. The ship suddenly pivoted and accelerated out of the region.

Balmaedee, M'atralee and Vasmeola raced into the camp. "Did it see us?" M'atralee questioned.

"No matter, we need to leave." Vasmeola ran to her siblings and began to tell them what to do while Simyaldee pulled on his blue armor.

M'atralee stepped forward and clipped the three equal length bars upon his shoulder. "You are confused right now brother and I understand it completely. But no matter how your mind thinks, you are to wear your bars with honor so long as you never betray us."

Simyaldee looked closely at the three purple bars of the Mirratord. Had he not watched M'atralee apply them to his shoulder, he would not have known that they were any different then normal. The last piece to his armor was the shield emitter. He attached it to the back of his vest and discarded the old one. His armor flared to life, covering him in an enveloping wash of static which suddenly faded.

Balmaedee nodded and then tapped his helmet communicator. "_Spirit of Holy Flame_ this is the recon team, we have found our target. We are ready for pickup."

"_Understood. Spirit Drop ship is inbound to your coordinates."_

Balmaedee powered off the communication and looked to the group. "Make for the tree line. We shall wait there."

M'atralee tapped Simyaldee on the shoulder as Vasmeola and her siblings ran to the trees, assisting their father as they went. "Look." He pointed to the distance as a U shaped drop ship was making its approach.

Simyaldee nervously stated, "That was fast."

"Indeed. It was too fast." M'atralee turned to Balmaedee. "The Seraph fighter must have reported our position."

"Form a defensive around the civilians, use energy swords only. In this dusk of night, we will let stealth be our ally. Let us see what the Jiralhanae are."

Simyaldee raced to Vasmeola's side and powered off her plasma rifle, to her discontent, but she understood; if a firefight started they would surely be killed. Simyaldee then vanished into the brush of trees, consumed by the night. M'atralee and Balmaedee, wearing their Spec Ops armor, both vanished from sight as their cloaking units powered on. Simyaldee wished he had that option, but he would do well with what he had.

The drop ship descended to standard deployment altitude and both sides of its protruding troop compartments opened. Simyaldee squinted, focusing on the bipedal forms that emerged.

Standing as tall as the average Sangheili, covered in dense brown and black hair, layered with massive muscles, and flaring monstrous teeth, stood this new threat; the Jiralhanae. They grouped together in packs of two, twenty in total, and they snarled incomprehensible orders to each other. Their language was as foreign to the Sangheili as the Kig-Yar's snaps and squawks. They searched the interior of the camp; kicking in the doors to the various huts and buildings. After several moments they turned their attention to the tree lines. One of them stood merely forty yards from Simyaldee's position, allowing him to get a better view of the massive creature.

Their size was unlike anything Simyaldee imagined. Their muscular build was as equally as impressive as their height. They were clearly physically powerful creatures, yet their mass would mean that they were slow. They wore no armor, aside from straps of ammo packs and various knives. Simyaldee could see that each of the creatures was carrying two or more sharp dagger like blades. Their primary weapon was a two handed projectile firing device the Simyaldee could not understand. It was clear, however, that one end could do great damage. The barrel was wide, but aside from that it looked like a simple pipe.

The Jiralhanae creature lifted its nose into the air, sniffing as if it caught the smell of something strong. It motioned forward, barking for its partner to follow. The two of them were closing in on Simyaldee, though they couldn't see him. Simyaldee did not know what to expect from the creatures, but knew that if he relied on his training he could overcome them. He displayed no fear, merely anticipation. These were new creatures, creatures he had never seen before, yet he was going to once again be forced to fight. Fate was cruel.

Simyaldee unclipped his energy sword, hunkered down, and waited. Two on one; for some reason he liked those odds.

The lead brute shouldered the long weapon and pulled up his two daggers; one in each hand. He began to grunt something to his partner, though Simyaldee could not understand anything they were saying.

The lead brute grunted, "I smell it. I smell it! It is here! Finally, worthy prey!"

"I hope there is more. I want to see their blood spill upon my hands!"

"I'll flush it out. If we kill one, I'm sure the others will come." The lead brute charged blindly into the brush, following the smell of fresh meat in its nostrils. It was clumsily swiping at the brush several feet away from Simyaldee; it knew where he was, just not exactly where. That was the creature's misfortune.

The second brute watched as his partner stopped swiping at the brush. "Did you find it? What is taking so long?" He watched as the lead brute slowly stumbled backwards, gripping at its neck. "What it is?" The second brute spun the lead brute around to see that its throat had been cut, yet the wound did not bleed out. He pushed the dieing brute to the side and pointed his weapon toward the brush and fired. A scattered mist of small powdered shells exploded from the barrel, cutting the through the brush like shards of metal pellets. Simyaldee's shield flashed from the impact but held at one hundred percent. Even after several rounds from the strange archaic weapon, Simyaldee's shields still held.

The weapon's constant discharge was attracting the attention of several of the other creatures. Simyaldee had to silence it. He exploded forward, leaping out of the brush and stabbed his energy sword into the brute's chest. It roared in agony and dropped its weapon. Several of the other brutes witnessed the attack and immediately charged toward them.

Simyaldee opened his com, "Second, I will distract them and lead them away from the civilians. It seems my stealth needs more training."

The reply came over the same frequency. "_We are not leaving you behind this time, young one. We shall sneak up behind them while they are districted by you."_

Simyaldee pulled his blade from the creature's chest as two 'Brutes' sprinted toward him, snarling and carrying their hand daggers. "If this is your action, Jiralhanae, then you will find that the Sangheili shall never be bested in hand to hand combat." Simyaldee sprinted toward the two Brutes as more and more of them began to bear down upon his position. The first Brute pulled back his blade, stabbing downward but missed completely. Simyaldee severed his head with one strike. The second Brute tackled Simyaldee, sending them both careening backwards.

Simyaldee was shocked at the creature's strength. Strong was not the word that could describe the beast's power. The Brute punched him in the chest, depleting his shields to nearly fifty percent. The force from the blow cracked a rib, as the shield emitter could only resist the impact; not the force of it. Simyaldee gripped the Brute's punch hand and countered with his blade, severing the creatures arm from its torso. He kicked the beast off of him and stood to challenge another.

He lowered his stance as three Brutes divided at him. With two swings he cut down one of them, kicked another and parried the blade of the third. Swinging his blade in a low swinging arc he severed the legs of the second, but the first Brute dodged it. He then gripped his projectile weapon and fired a round at Simyaldee at point blank range. The force knocked Simyaldee off his feet and he tumbled backwards. He regained his stance and dashed toward the Brute as it frantically tried to hit him with the inaccurate weapon again.

Simyaldee had unknowingly increased his speed, and was dodging at the pace of a full sprint. He kicked the Brute in the jaw, lifting the creature several feet into the air, and as it seemed to float he spun and severed the creature's torso with his quickly depleting energy sword.

The other Brutes held their position. What they had just seen was mind-boggling. The creature, this Sangheili, had just killed seven of them single handedly. Not only that, but it looked as though their weapons were useless. This was their first ground battle against these Sangheili creatures and this was not the outcome they had predicted.

Simyaldee watched a blur fade in and out of view behind the Brutes, it was brief but he knew what it was, his brothers were moving in behind them. The creatures would never know what hit them and this platoon of Brutes would all be dead shortly.

Simyaldee yelled his Sangheili battle cry, and charged into the pack of the remaining Jiralhanae, blinded by the combat high that had completely consumed him. Vasmeola watched from the shadow of the tree line.

A small smile crept upon her face as she mumbled to herself, "He is mine. He sheds blood in a mindless storm of combat. Perhaps this is our nature… to kill. Even if it is our own that we kill. This is my only salvation I have left. This hope, that my actions are my own."

- - - - - - - -

The council chambers opened and a lone grunt trotted inside as fast as he could. His short legs were pumping in a clownish display of running, as his muffled mouth panted heavily. "Your holiness! Me get transmission!"

Truth raised his hand to the gathered council of Sangheili and Prophets, silencing them. "This had best be important, the council is in session."

"Me sorry, holiness. Message from Hierarch Prophet of Regret recon battle group. Many ships needed at Outpost World, new enemy encountered. Forces out numbered. Need help!"

One of the Elite councilors spoke up. "The recon group was sent to the outpost world? But that world should have been emptied days ago." The council began to mumble in question.

Truth waved his hand. "I was afraid this would happen. We have been in … negotiations with a new race for several days. We sent word to them that the outpost world would be vacated so that they could visually see the majesty of our Covenant. This is why I assembled this council meeting today. It seems that the Honorable Regret was misinformed of the timing of their arrival. They are the Jiralhanae, and we wish to have peace with them as well. Like all races we have encountered in our search for the sacred artifacts of our Gods, we will show them the true path of our Gods and show them the way to the Great Journey." It was a smooth lie, and now Truth needed to see if they would play into his game.

Another Elite councilor spoke. "But noble Truth, the Unggoy speaks that a battle is being waged. Our recon ships are being overpowered."

"Yes, this is not how our first meeting should commence." Truth nodded in agreement, but secretly he knew this would pass. The council had taken the bait. "Prepare the Amarda. I will go to the outpost world immediately."

The Migration had begun.

**To be continued.**


	8. Fall of one, Rise of another

**Section 8: Fall of one, Rise of another**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Covenant High Council Meeting hall  
_High Charity_  
Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 21, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

Spec Ops Commander Vadumee walked the glowing halls of the _Truth and Reconciliation_ with his team of Spec Ops. Generally, Vadumee would never travel without at least one member of the Mirratord at his aid, yet this particular enquiry would not need their power. This was a subtle mission; ask questions, make the Spec Ops Division leader nervous, and then leave without delay. That was all that was needed for this mission; talk. Yet Vadumee was feelings something new in his heart. Again and again, the image of Halo appeared in his mind, its majesty and brilliance danced through his imagination as if he had just seen it.

There was more to the Prophets than Vadumee had once thought. A month ago, he was sure that they were false, liars, gathering small trinkets from around the galaxy, yet with every conquest he saw something new that forced him to rethink his allegiance. Was he wrong about them? Were the council's suspicions all for nothing? Was the Mirratord really necessary as a spying unit? He wanted to tell the elders what he had seen, yet he had to be sure that this wasn't a false. Vadumee was beginning to believe in the Prophet's quest, yet he was torn on how to handle it.

"Commander!" The Spec Ops division leader nodded deeply to his superior. "Thank you for coming. I must admit, this situation has me puzzled."

"Indeed." Vadumee stepped onto the lower level of the landing deck and examined the Phantom's external lines. It was a masterpiece of Covenant engineering, yet had no form of weapons to defend itself from attack; thus making it useless in combat situations. Vadumee pondered its effectiveness if it were armed with plasma cannons, or high yield lasers. It could be turned into a more reliable troop transport than the standard drop ships.

"I hope that the crime scene has not been … altered?" Vadumee questioned as he motioned toward the Phantom's loading ramp.

"No sir." The Division leader responded. "I returned the ship here myself, after it crashed on the _Infinite Succor._ After my own inspection, I made sure that the scene was untouched, as per your orders."

"Good. We shall examine it thoroughly. I want a complete analysis of everything that happened on board."

Vadumee's helmet com burst to life and he paused halfway up the ramp. _"Commander, the council is reporting that the Armada is preparing to make a slip space jump to the Outpost World."_

Vadumee paused. "Are you certain?"

"_Yes sir all ships on active duty are being ordered to prep slip space drives, and transfer Nav controls to High Charity."_

Vadumee looked to the Division leader and even he seemed stunned. "Very well. I am currently on a mission for the Hierarchs, notify the Supreme Commanders of the fleets that I am not coming on this journey, and that I will join the Armada once I have completed this task."

"_Understood Commander."_ The com signal faded and Vadumee glared at the division leader.

"Why is the Armada going to the Outpost World?" The Division leader questioned.

"That is not my concern at the moment, Division leader. The Hierarchs are not pleased about the death of their official and my duty is to focus on that. Let us continue." The Commander and the Spec Ops Division leader climbed into the ramp of the Phantom as the Spec Ops guarded the ramps entrance. Vadumee went about his duty of putting a puzzle together that he already knew the answer to.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Outpost world  
Former home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The night sky was glowing golden yellow as the battle in the distant city grew into ground warfare. The Brutes and the Elites were in an all out war, and support troops were being called for both fronts. But several miles away from the escalating war stood several Elites that had proven themselves victorious over their new found enemy.

M'atralee slumped to his knees, gasping for breath as his arm trembled from his wounds. "It is broken. This will slow me down. Blasted Jiralhanae! Foul cur!"

Simyaldee stood at his side, sweat dripping from his pours as he held his broken rib. "If not for these shields, we may not have prevailed over their numbers."

Vasmeola appeared from the tree line with two of her brothers following closely behind. "Simyaldee, you are wounded." She quickly examined the area where Simyaldee was holding his side.

"It is not important. It will not hinder me. See to M'atralee's arm."

Vasmeola nodded and quickly forged a sling for M'atralee. Simyaldee walked closer to Balmaedee as he listened in on the battle net.

"The Jiralhanae have taken nearly two thirds of the city and downed three ships… this is preposterous!" Balmaedee roared. "This battle should not be happening."

"Are they skilled in space combat?" Simyaldee questioned.

"No. We destroyed three of their ships as well, but the last of their warriors have taken refuge in the city with their last ship. They are forming a defensive and waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Yet we have not been given any orders to attack or to retreat. Only one transmission has arrived, a statement from Regret, it said that the Armada is in route."

"The Armada?" Simyaldee seemed puzzled. "Why are the Hierarchs coming here? And why didn't they give our warriors any orders; to retreat or fight?"

"_Spirt of Holy Flame_ this is the recon team, do you copy?" Balmaedee didn't like the static that followed. "Do you copy?" He began to pace. "Damn it! These Jiralhanae are beginning to make my blood boil. Our ship must have been the one which was just sunk."

Simyaldee looked to the skies. "They may have taken down our transport as well. We can not wait here."

"Agreed." Balmaedee turned to his small team of warriors and civilians. "M'atralee, stick close to the Royal Family, Simyaldee and I will take point on all actions. First, let us claim that Jiralhanae drop ship and head to the city. The last of our cruisers is located there." The group began to gather weapons from the fallen Brute corpses, but Balmaedee stopped Simyaldee. "Have you decided?"

Simyaldee paused as he gathered his thoughts. "I will do what I must, to see that they are safe." He looked to Vasmeola and her family as they assisted their father from the tree line.

"And that is what it means to be a Mirratord brother. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. We are the barrier between the prophets and our kin. We may act harshly and brutally, but we do it for the benefit of our race. Come, let us make sure the drop ship is clear."

Simyaldee tapped his helmet communicator as he and Balmaedee sprinted toward the ship. "M'atralee, pull them up slowly. Wait for my signal."

"_Understood."_

Simyaldee dashed ahead of Balmaedee, and halted at the left side of the side ramp. He glared into the drop ship's hull. "Clear." Suddenly, Balmaedee dashed into the hull, sweeping his plasma rifle from side to side in a scanning pattern. He moved aft and waited for Simyaldee to join him. They both took position at the cockpit door. Balmaedee powered on his active camouflage and sprinted into the room.

"All is clear." Balmaedee reported.

Simyaldee lowered his weapon and called M'atralee. "Move in. But stay low, keep your eyes open." Simyaldee moved back to the ramp as the young civilians raced toward them. M'atralee stayed behind to guard the rear and their wounded father. Simyaldee scanned the area, checking the tree lines just to be sure. The first to arrive was the youngest, he showed great potential for his age and displayed no fear; Simyaldee was proud to see the young one blossom before his eyes. Vasmeola then helped her siblings board the ship and returned to help M'atralee and her father.

Simyaldee and M'atralee's helmet speakers came to life. _"Three drop ships on approach. They are not responding to the Spirit of Holy Flame's call signal."_ Balmaedee sharply stated. Time was up, they had to leave.

M'atralee slipped his arm under the ageing male's and began to double time it toward the ramp, Vasmeola assisted in the speed up. Simyaldee climbed down the ramp and looked to the horizon; three U shaped drop ships were on approach and moving fast.

"_Engines are hot. Are we clear?"_

"Stand by!" Simyaldee replied. He reached out as plasma fire began to sweep over the area. The Jiralhanae were firing blindly in the night, but their distance was too great to get a precise shot. Vasmeola gripped Simyaldee's hand and he pulled her inside, followed closely by her father and M'atralee. "Clear!" The ship jolted forward as the door began to close. Plasma fire engulfed the ship's tail section, but did little damage; at least nothing foreseeable.

"Can we outrun them?" M'atralee stated as he raced to the turret controls. He angled the plasma turret stationed at the base of the main fuselage and began to fire at their pursuers.

"Depending on how heavy they are. If they have a full compliment of troops, we can out run them." Balmaedee replied from the ship controls.

The valley vanished beneath them as they soared over the forest. Ahead of them, just over the horizon, was a glowing inferno of what was once the largest city on the planet, and home to the Sangheili Watchmen Academy. Two ships hovered over the city, the brilliance of their gravity lifts glowed softly in the midst of the blazing city.

The drop ship tilted and banked as one of the Brute drop ships began to gain on them. The other two ships trailed behind, unable to match their speed. M'atralee cursed in his Sangheili tongue as the drop ship appeared to be streaking toward them faster and faster.

"That ship must be unloaded! We cannot out run it!"

Simyaldee powered on the rear view monitor. "Then shoot it down!"

"I am attempting to do so! I can not get a clear shot on the pilot's cockpit."

Sure enough, Simyaldee watched as pound after pound of plasma rained onto the pursuing drop ship, yet it maintained a steady course. "It must be a scout ship. Only the pilot and co-pilot are aboard." Smoke poured from the compartments where soldier would have been.

Balmaedee cut in. "Aim for the forward stabilizer." But his controls were quickly becoming unstable. "We've been hit! Steering controls are erratic."

M'atralee focused on the forward hull of the drop ship, glaring at the middle and forward section of the pulsing blue lights that made up the ship's stabilizer. He depressed the trigger and watched as plasma washed over the chasing ships inner hull. The blue lights of the stabilizer faded, and the ship banked sharply, as the weight of the forward compartment began to cause problems with its handling.

"I got you now!" M'atralee fired, sending plasma smashing into the pilot's cockpit and main drive control. The ship sparked and red flames ignited in the rear compartment. Satisfied, M'atralee exhaled, but they were not out of the woods yet. Their drop ship had suffered steering control damage and Balmaedee was having trouble maintaining a straight course.

"We'll have to land at the edge of the city and go in by foot!" Balmaedee groaned.

"With five civilians and an injured old male?" M'atralee questioned.

"We will be fine!" Vasmeola replied. "As you now know, we are more than mere farmers."

"Great." M'atralee sighed. "Let us take on the Jiralhanae army all by ourselves then. Silly female, you know nothing of combat!"

"M'atralee, hold your tongue!" Balmaedee replied as he rotated the ship and prepared to land. "They can fire a weapon so that will be good enough. Brace for impact!"

The drop ship skipped on the landing and then spun and drove the left side ramp into the soil. The right side ramp parted and everyone stood from being jostled about. They then peered into the city in the distance.

With the exception of Balmaedee, none of them had seen war and the death it brought. Buildings smoldered with flames as plasma mortar lobbed across the sky. Dead bodies of Brutes and Elites lay scattered about. Shouts of pain came from everywhere. It was very overwhelming. Vasmeola was quickly sinking into despair, from what she could tell, the cruiser overhead was on the far side of the city. They would have to cut through the city to get there.

Simyaldee let it all into his mind, but he felt nothing. His thoughts raced back to his training with the master, how he was forced to endure such harsh training and watching his kin suffer at his side. He was ready for this. This time he would not be facing Prophets or his own allies and kin. No, he would be facing a true enemy.

Balmaedee stepped off the ship, his rifle raised and steady. "M'atralee, form up the civilians, keep them close to each other and no one speak. Simyaldee, maintain visual with them at all times, but keep your distance. I shall take point."

"Leave me." Came a groggy reply. "I shall only slow you down."

"Father, we did not bring you this far to leave you." Vasmeola roared. She began to help him up but he pushed her away.

"I am still the elder of this family! Now go!" He coughed as he gripped a Brute long barrel weapon in his hand. He looked to Balmaedee, "He is strong, and will protect you. My time is over. It is best that it end here. Do not dishonor what little honor we have left, my daughter."

Vasmeola stood and backed away from her father. The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know; he was aware of what she had done. "Very well father." She understood that he was dieing, yet he was an old warrior that did not want to flee from battle the way he fled so many years ago. He wanted to die with honor. She turned and walked away, pushing her young brothers away. Her brothers watched as their father nodded toward them, and they silently replied with the same nod. Each of them turned and followed their elder sister away. None showed any emotion, not even the youngest.

"Is this alright?" Simyaldee questioned. Vasmeola gave no response. She lifted her rifle and stood at M'atralee's side; though her eyes were heavy.

Balmaedee looked to his Mirratord team, ignoring the olderly elite that sat inside the crashed drop ship. Balmaedee understood the dieing request of an elder. With a quick nod to his team, he raced ahead. Simyaldee turned on his heel and followed.

M'atralee turned to the family and motioned forward. "Stay close to me and move as I do. When I stop, you stop. When I run, you run, unless I tell you otherwise." M'atralee looked ahead, deeper into the city near a burning Seraph fighter. He spotted Simyaldee waving him forward, so he stood and ran toward him. The young family followed.

Tired and slowly bleeding to death, the aged warrior sat upon the edge of the drop ship's ramp and gazed at the back of his young family. He watched until they were finally out of sight. He clinched the brute weapon in his hand and began to walk into the wilderness behind him as the two pursuing ship finally caught up. They hovered over the old warrior as he glared at them strongly. The two ships descended.

"I betrayed my oath…even though I was tortured. I was weak. Let this be my act of atonement for my failure, old friend. We are two warriors, one in the same. I called you Master, yet you called me Friend."

Three Brutes, with blades glaring, charged at the old elite. He managed to fire one shot at his approaching enemy, but they killed him quickly and gloated over his prone body.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Outpost world  
Former home sector of _"The Fleet of Divine Light"_  
Jiralhanae Western encampment  
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

His fist slammed into the chest of the elite that dared to cross his path, and its blue-purple blood spilled across his white fur. "They are not as tough as I would have hopped. Even with their armor on, they crumble so easily upon my fists." He licked the blood from his fur and chuckled in delight. His name was Dimonthulon, and he was Chieftain of the Brutes. He stood several inches taller than the others and his silver-white fur was a sign of power. As Chieftain he was protected by numerous Brutes, the best trained in their army, yet Dimonthulon out powered them all.

"Chieftain, these pathetic creatures have destroyed the weapons system aboard our ship. It seems that a boarding team snuck aboard and they are causing great damage."

Dimonthulon let loose an angry roar and slammed the back of his hand upon the sniveling Brute that had reported the incident. "Get to the ship! We must hold this terrain until the rest of my fleet arrives! I will not loose to these pests!" He then turned to the rest of his encamped soldiers and hefted the true sign of his leadership power; the mighty Fist of Rukt. He peered over the battlefield as a squad of his Brutes retreated to the ship to aid in its defense, leaving him with only several dozen troops to command.

Dimonthulon lifted his nose, and smelled an unfamiliar scent. His ears then heard the rumble of what he thought could only be foot soldiers. From around the corner of a blazing building appeared at least one hundred tiny bipedal creatures followed by several rows of glowing, interlocking, shield units. They were being held by another race he did not recognize, short slender creatures with bird features. It would appear that the Covenant had amassed several races to their cause, and not just the Sangheili.

"Chieftain, what are they?" Questioned one of the soldiers. The group of entrenched warriors peered closely over their barricaded fort, questioningly staring at the phalanx army pushing closer toward them.

"The race in the rear is the Sangheili, yet the little ones… I am not sure. The Prophets did not speak of them." Dimonthulon knew that his unit was outnumbered, and with half of his force moving back to the ship, a retreat was needed, but his pride would not let him turn his back to such a weak opponent. His options were limited, they were boxed in and the Elites had the advantage of number and firepower, yet he knew his Brutes had the advantage of tenacity and power. He could lead his assault, but without knowing more about his enemy it would be a dangerous tactic. He looked over his foot soldiers, mere pawns in this game of chess. "Rise my Jiralhanae warriors! Show them our worth! Charge!"

From behind their make shift fort, the entrenched Brutes leapt from cover and roared as they pressed toward the charging Elite forces. The Grunts that led the Elite charge fired their plasma cannons and needlers without breaking stride. Cannon fodder, that's what the Grunts would eventually be called, but their numbers alone would at least slow down the Brute's initial charge. Plasma explosions cascaded around the region as Brutes snarled and tore into the first wave of attackers. Grunts leapt onto the back of Brutes, yet were thrown off with little difficulty. In some cases, ten or twelve Grunts would drag down a separated Brute and tear him apart in a feverish frenzy. But the Grunts numbers were quickly dwindling, and without mass of large numbers to aid them, the cowering nature of the Grunts began to shine. They retreated, loosing their will to fight.

They turned and began to run away, but could not escape the Brutes faster pace. The Elites shouted for the Grunts to hold their ground and regroup, but soon the last of the Grunts were crushed. The Jackal's raised their shields as the Brutes turned and began to flow towards them. Yet Dimonthulon and his main unit of guards held their formation; watching the Elites as they ordered the Jackals into a defensive stand. The mighty Chieftain gripped the monstrously large hammer in his hand as it glowed magically. He was anxious to attack, to feast upon the carnage of battle and crush this enemy to prove that Jiralhanae race was far superior to anything that the Covenant could muster, but he had to wait and observe. He had to find a weakness in the Elites method and see what the smaller creatures were capable of.

He watched and waited.

- - - - - - - -

Balmaedee hunkered down in the corner of the alley. Without looking back he lifted his palm to Simyaldee, telling him to halt. Simyaldee looked back to see if M'atralee and the others were still behind him and gratefully they were. He held up his hand to tell them to hold. He then looked back to Balmaedee as the Second slapped his open palm to the ground. Simyaldee knew what that meant, he was to come up to his position and hold for orders; Balmaedee was about to go and scout the area. Simyaldee turned to M'atralee and waved him forward. Behind him were Vasmeola and her younger kin.

Simyaldee stopped them as they approached and spoke directly to M'atralee. "Balmaedee is scouting ahead. Hold here for orders." Simyaldee hunkered low and crept forward. He tapped Balmaedee on the shoulder as he approached and let his eyes follow Balmaedee's glare.

In the distance was another battlefield, Grunts were being slaughtered as the Brutes overwhelmed their thinning numbers. The Brutes then turned their attention to a standard line defense of Jackals and Elites. Simyaldee looked the area over and could quickly capture the scene: the Brutes were holding their formation in order to protect their ship's gravity lift and the Elite units were trying to break through. He continued to scan the area and saw that there was no way around the battlefield without backtracking. Not a good idea, as it would increase their chances of being found by hostile forces.

"Options?" Simyaldee softly questioned.

"We have to go through this defense in order to get to the ship. However, look closer to the enemy units." Balmaedee pointed toward the rear of the advancing Brute forces. Simyaldee saw what looked to be a larger Brute than the rest. He held a massive hammer and his fur was brilliantly white.

"What is it that? A Jiralhanae field master of some kind?" Simyaldee questioned as his gaze was transfixed on the massive beast.

"He is well protected and studying the battle before him. He is perhaps something more important than a mere field master. Stay here, out of sight. I will see what I can find out."

Balmaedee vanished from view, his enhanced active camouflage powered by the new shield emitter, made him nearly invisible. He stalked into the street and looked the area over. He pressed closer into the Brute's line, and stopped merely a few feet from their fortified position. He had to find a path for them all to pass through, and a path that could be defended from heavy weapons fire, in case the Brutes spotted them. He gripped his energy sword hilt and palmed it tightly as he stepped over rubble. He looked over his shoulder and could see Simyaldee looking toward the Brute's formation, ready to spring to action at a moments notice; even if it meant facing overwhelming odds.

Balmaedee stopped behind a large piece of building debris and looked up the street and to the alley across from him. He had found a blind spot. From all angles the boulder sized debris presented itself as excellent cover, and it was easily defendable from all sides. The alley exit was a mere sixty yards away, easily crossable for any trained warrior, but the young civilians would be a problem. He leapt to the back side of the boulder and glared at Simyaldee, he uncloaked and revealed himself. He wanted to use the com channel, but with the Brute's ship nearby they ran the risk of having their transmission intercepted. He slapped the side of the debris twice, signaling that this was their target location and it was secure. Simyaldee nodded in response and turned to M'atralee.

The group came up to Simyaldee and he told them the plan. M'atralee would escort the first group, the slowest, and Simyaldee would follow with the faster of the group, and those who could fire their weapons if needed. This was risky, as there was a possibility of being divided, but it was the only way. No choice, it had to be done.

M'atralee crept forward and looked down the street. The Brutes were still focused on the battle and not watching their rear flank; with the ship behind them they had no reason to be alarmed. M'atralee gripped the youngest by the hand and dashed across the street followed by two of the other young. Their strides were long, but they were still slow. Simyaldee watched the Brutes closely, willing them mentally not to turn around. After what felt like an eternity, they cleared the gap and were resting behind the debris.

Vasmeola exhaled heavily, a sigh of relief from watching her younger brothers successfully cross the street. She rested her hand upon Simyaldee's shoulder. "If we are seen… will the Warrior forces at the opposite end come to our aid?"

"No, they are cut off from us. They may use our discovery to their advantage, but they will not come to help. We will be considered worthy sacrifices in this battle. Prepare yourself." Simyaldee watched closely, waiting for a moment to spring forth. Every second seemed to last forever but the Brutes never turned around. It was now or never. "Go!"

Vasmeola dashed into the street, her plasma rifle held tightly, followed by the last of her brothers. Simyaldee followed closely behind but he ran at only a half sprint; they were slow yet still faster than the others. He watched the backs of the Brutes as he crossed the road, still willing them mentally not to turn around. He then stopped at the side of the debris while Vasmeola and the others breathed heavily. M'atralee and Simyaldee were hardly winded, yet the civilians were completely exhausted from the short sprint. At another time it would be amusing to see them panting so heavily.

Simyaldee walked closer to Balmaedee, but suddenly they both turned, as footsteps echoed from behind. Coming from the ship was a lone Brute. He would easily spot them in a moment's time.

"Get across to the alley. I will deal with him." Balmaedee cloaked and jumped out of cover. "Go now!"

"Someday, all of our forces should carry active camouflage, and not just the Spec Ops." The idea was sound, but there was no time to ponder it. Simyaldee waved for M'atralee to lead, and they all raced across the street in unison. Simyaldee grabbed the youngest and shouldered him as he ran behind Vasmeola.

The Brute looked up and to his surprise he saw several Elites racing across his path. Shock filled him and he gripped his weapon. He opened his mouth to yell out their presence, but his voice cut out before he could do anything. His arms became heavy, deathly heavy, and pain filled his chest. He glared down at the glowing spikes of energy that protruded from his chest and an invisible force gripped his mouth shut. He motioned to grab at his mouth, to pull away the invisible object, yet its power was unreal. He then found the pain beginning to grow as he was lifted slowly into the air. He could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet and his neck was getting tight, like a vice was twisting his head in an awkward angle.

Simyaldee released the young one as they all entered the alley. He turned to see what had happened to the Brute that was coming toward them, but as he turned he saw something shocking. The Brute seemed to be floating backwards a few feet off the ground with an Energy sword protruding out of its chest. Simyaldee had snuck up from behind, impaled the beast, and lifted it off the ground with one arm. He glared closer and could see that the creature's neck was being twisted backwards, but muffled so that it couldn't scream. The sheer power to lift such a monstrously large foe was mind-boggling, but to do it with one hand and snap its neck with the other was well beyond that.

The Brute's body suddenly slammed to the ground, lifeless, and Balmaedee silently appeared at Simyaldee's side. Simyaldee jerked away, bewildered at Balmaedee's stealth. "Let us move on." He stated as he again resumed the lead.

Simyaldee watched as the Second walked toward the front of the group, and began to realize that he was called the Second for a reason. He was strong, far stronger than Simyaldee thought possible. They were only separated by ten years of age, yet the gap between experiences seemed colossal. The group gathered themselves and continued on toward the Elite ship.

- - - - - - - -

Dimonthulon glinted at the massacre before his eyes. His Brutes were out matched, out smarted and slaughtered. "The smaller creatures in front of the Sangheili, they must be well trained to hold their ranks even under such heavy fire. We did not break their defense!" He snarled as he gripped the Fist of Rukt tighter, eager to spring forth and slam the mighty hammer into their lines. But now was not the time to be aggressive. The Elites were tactful, smart and patient. They ordered their underlings with masterful skill and were keenly skilled at studying their opponents. The Elites were everything that the Prophets said they were. He was wrong about them and the Covenant, and his leadership was soon to be changed if his reinforcements didn't arrive soon. He thought on his next action. He had to regroup his forces for one last stand, a stand near the ship's gravity lift.

"Contact the ship, tell them to lower all defense weapons to the base of the gravity lift and set up a perimeter." He snarled to his kin. Several of them turned and ran down the street. "The rest of you, retreat to the ship. We will make our last stand there." All of his units retreated but he snarled and huffed at the slowly advancing wall of Jackal shield emitters. He waited until his units were cleared and then stepped toward the Jackal's.

"You have made your point, Sangheilis. But the Jiralhanae shall not falter so easily." He lowered his hammer to mid height and pushed it forward. A sudden glow of blue energy engulfed the Hammer of Rukt and rolled toward the unsuspecting line of Jackals and Elites. They were all thrown off their feet, pushed backwards, and momentarily stunned. They quickly gathered themselves, but Dimonthulon had already fled.

He cleared the fort but watched as two of his guards stood over the remains of another. "What is it? I ordered you to fall back…" His eyes then noted the wounds on the corpse. His chest had been pierced and his neck snapped. It was his Second in command, the Brute he had ordered to secure the ship; dead. What did this mean? "No time. Fall back to the ship. We must deal with one thing at a time."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Jiralhanae ship hovering over evacuated Sangheili Capital City  
Outpost World  
March 22, 2434 :: Sol Relative Time

The towering image of a Prophet glowed in the center of the room. It gazed downward toward the ageing Brute before him, a Brute that had climbed the ladder of ranks in a very short period of time and was well respected amongst his kin. His age granted him seniority, yet he was forced to remain nothing more than a mere Captain.

The Hologram spoke,"We shall arrive in two days. Is everything prepared?"

With a snarling bass came the reply, "Yes your Holiness. All is prepared. The Chieftain is moving into position as we speak; believing that our weapons have been taken off line."

"Good. Can your subordinates be trusted?"

"Power governs all, your Holiness. They will follow my lead."

"This was a wise decision. Dimonthulon, I fear, was not ready to follow the path of the Great Journey, nor the will of Gods. Yet you… you have the light of the Gods shining upon you even as we speak. When this is over, you and the Jiralhanae shall be welcomed into our Covenant, and embraced within our Holiness. And when the day of the Great Journey comes, you and the Jiralhanae will stand at the center of the Covenant and assist us down the path."

The graying Brute knelt before the Hologram, his head held low. "Your words are as pure as the Future of our race, Holiness. It is time for us to end the warmongering of Dimonthulon, and enter our new age with the Covenant."

The image of Truth faded as the old Brute stood. He looked over his crew and snarled deeply. "Those of you who have followed me knew this day would come. Dimonthulon stole the title of Chieftain away from my family, and today I mean to claim it back. He proved himself a worthy warrior upon the battlefield, yet he does not see the future of our race. Wars are not won by power alone. We must have allies, brothers in arm. Was it not I that showed you the power of the Covenant and their Sangheile Forces? Dimonthulon blindly attacked an enemy he did not understand. He will lead us to ruin, as we can not fight the Covenant alone. Brothers, today the rightful heir to the Chieftain line shall be returned!" Growls of approval followed as the aged Brute smiled at his kin. "What is Dimonthulon's position?"

"He is forming a defensive line beneath the Gravity lift. The Sangheili forces have pushed him back to our point."

The new Brute Chieftain chuckled. "As I told him, taking over this city was a waste of time. This was once their world and the Sangheili know the terrain well." The Brute began to salivate with anticipation as he watched the camera swing into position; looking down upon Dimonthulon and his guards. He could taste the victory upon his lips. "It is time. Evacuate all of our kin from the ground. I go to claim the new destiny of the Jiralhanae race." With three senior officers at his side, the Brute made his way to the gravity lift and descended to the ground.

One of Dimonthulon guards overheard the order to evacuate and snarled as the ageing Brute stepped from the lift. "Mighty Dimonthulon! An order was given to retreat!"

Dimonthulon roared angrily, "I gave no such word! Who spoke in my place?"

"It was I!" The aged Brute slammed his right fist upon his bare chest repeatedly, with a thunderous bass echoing from the swirling air inside his chest.

Dimonthulon chuckled. "You wish to challenge me, old warrior? Do you wish to reinstate your family into the position of Chieftain once again? If your family was able to lead us, then I would not have been able to claim it from them so easily!"

"Face me, Dimonthulon! I, Tartarus, senior of the Chieftain family, will reclaim my family honor before my death!" Tartarus tossed his ammo belts and blades to the ground, and with a roaring thunder he began to smack his chest repeatedly in a display of power.

"Who would follow you? You are old, weak, beyond your years. You will die of age before you even have the chance to sit upon the throne. In your sixty years of service you have never proven yourself worthy. You should have left the military long ago and settled with your mate." He chuckled in a mocking manner.

"But my family honor will be restored. And when my son comes of age, he shall claim my name and lead the Jiralhanae down the path that the Gods laid before us!"

Dimonthulon gazed upon the street, looking to see where the Sangheili forces were. There was no sign of them, and by right he could not reject a challenge to his position as Chieftain. "I need three witnesses. The rest of you, keep watch for the Sangheili." He turned to Tartarus, "I will make you suffer, and then spill the blood of your family in retribution of this act! The name, Tartarus will be forever erased from the history of the Jiralhanae!" Dimonthulon dropped the Fist of Rukt, his ammo belt and armor. He stretched his arms wide, flexing his muscles, and released a blood curling lion's roar from the depth of his lungs. The two massive beasts charged and collided in combat. Fists slammed upon each other as blood and fur were tossed into the wind.

The aged Tartarus could not keep up with Dimonthulon's youth, yet he was a smart opponent. Dimonthulon relied on his power too greatly, charging blindly at Tartarus, but with a calculating eye and patience Tartarus waited for his moment. He withstood repeated blows, and bites from Dimonthulon's monstrous teeth, and finally the moment came.

Dimonthulon leapt forward, once again, raising his arms and fists to pound upon Tartarus's head. Tartarus stepped to the side and slapped the back of his fist against Dimonthulon; sending youthful Chieftain stumbling forward. Tartarus pounced upon his exposed back and gripped him in a headlock. The battle that had seemed to be going so easily for Dimonthulon took a tragic turn for the worst. Bruised, beaten, and blooded, no one could have predicted that Tartarus would win the battle, yet it ended with a sudden snap of muscle and bone. With the back of Dimonthulon's head resting upon his shoulder, Tartarus roared in approval. Dimonthulon's body went limp as the last of his air slowly slipped from his lips. The body dropped to the ground and Tartarus slammed his fists to his chest as he tossed his head back in victory. He then tore Dimonthulon's head from his body as a trophy of his victory.

Battered and wounded, Tartarus claimed the prize of his victory; the Fist of Rukt. He held it high over his head and roared in acceptance, while cradling Dimonthulon's head in his free hand. The Brute witnesses cheered in his honor, though half distracted due to the battle happening around them.

Tartarus looked the group over, "Everyone board the ship. Get us into orbit. The Covenant has proven their worth and we have proven ours. We shall side with them and their Gods."

"Sangheili forces are advancing!" A Brute on watch shouted

"The battle is over. But we will not surrender to them." Tartarus exclaimed as he hobbled back to the gravity lift. "Sound the full retreat! This battle… belongs to them."

- - - - - - - -

The path ahead was clear, and Balmaedee jogged into the command camp of Covenant forces, however he made sure that Simyaldee and the others stayed behind. He approached a red armored Field master and nodded sharply. "Status."

The Field Master quickly addressed him. "Sir, these creatures are in full retreat back to their ship. I was about to notify our Commander to prepare for air combat."

"Retreating? What is the status of our reinforcements?"

He turned to a nearby command terminal, "They are still in slip space. They should arrive tomorrow. Do you believe that they sensed that our superior numbers would be arriving?"

"No… yet it is odd that they would abandon their quest so quickly."

"Sir?" The Field master questioned, curious about Balmaedee's statement.

"Nothing. I have a group of civilians with me, a political family. They must be extracted immediately. I need secrecy on their removal, however our ship was sunk. I am assuming command of any Spec Ops units you have available in this camp."

"I would never hinder the operations of the Spec Ops, Sir. I have ten in my regiment and it would appear that ground combat has ended for now, you may use them at your leave."

"I will return them to you once we are aboard ship." Balmaedee turned to walk away, and waved toward the shadows for Simyaldee to approach. "I will gather our escorts to travel with us to our ship. Tell the others to conceal themselves as best they can. We must keep our honored guests a secret."

Simyaldee sprinted back to the group and advised them to cover themselves. They found an empty building and grabbed what they could find. They gathered fragments of cloths and torn banners, and covered themselves from head to toe. Soon Balmaedee appeared with ten black armored Spec Ops and he advised them on their duty. They were escorts only, and needed to provide protection until they arrived at the ship's gravity lift. Simyaldee thought it was rather awkward that on the easiest part of their journey, they finally had acquired more support.

They group quickly departed; Balmaedee leading with Simyaldee in the rear. The Spec Ops flanked the group from each side, cautiously watching the shadows for any movement. Aside from the random Jackal patrols, the path was clear and went without incident.

During the short trip, Balmaedee took the time to speak with the Ship Master via his headset. "I understand your concern, Sir. But this is why we were sent here."

The tension in the Ship Master's voice was irate. _"This is a battleship, major. I do not care if you are with the Spec Ops; this ship is in the midst of combat. We can not play host to a political family which was 'accidentally' left behind. How would I explain the change in the crew manifest if we make it back to port? I do not wish to have a Prophet breathing down my neck at something as small as a rescue operation."_

"I have the council's authority to do whatever is necessary to accomplish this mission! As ship master of the last ship able to protect this family, that duty falls in your hands! I simply need quarters for them to rest in until the Armada arrives tomorrow."

The com echoed, _"And if we are sunk before then? That… ship, is about to power up its systems. It is making a run for it. I have no intention of letting them get away! You are safer on the planet."_

"And you know full well, that if they wanted to bombard us from orbit, they could. We will take our chances aboard ship!"

"_Major, you are pressing your…stand by."_ There was rustling in the background, but the Ship Master did not cut the transmission, instead it began to sound as though he was speaking to someone else._ "Yes your holiness. The battle is going well, we are victorious… no. They are retreating. I am preparing to pursue… what do you mean? Your holiness, this is not… Yes. I understand."_ The ship master's voice became tense, and he returned to Balmaedee's channel. "_Get up here, major. Something is not right."_

Upon arriving inside the main cargo hold at the top of the Gravity lift, Simyaldee quickly tossed his Brute weapon for something more functional; a plasma rifle and a fresh Energy Sword. The port side door to the cargo hold parted, and in walked the ship master and his escorts. And he was not happy to see Simyaldee rummaging through his supplies.

"Drop that sword, young one. You have not earned the right to wield it." The ship master stated as he approached. He stopped merely inches away from Simyaldee; attempting to intimidate the young warrior. Simyaldee didn't back down, and returned his gaze into the Ship Master's eyes.

Balmaedee watched the encounter and smirked, "It would be wise for you to back down, Commander. Though his armor does not show it, he is under my command for this mission."

The ship master spun quickly and eyeballed Balmaedee. "This young one is a member of the Special Operations? By his look, I would say he is no more then ten days out of the Academy; a mere Watchman."

Although he was upset about being called a Watchman, Simyaldee was more curious about Balmaedee's statement. If memory served him correctly, he was Minor team leader for squad Omega 419; that was if he wasn't executed for abandoning his duty.

"Yes. He is. And by rank he has earned the right to carry that blade." Balmaedee stated as the Ship Master backed away from Simyaldee. "Now, if you will have someone escort our honored guests to their quarters…"

"Yes, yes." The ship master annoyingly waved several of his command officers forward and they assisted Vasmeola and her kin out of the cargo hold. "Who are they?"

"I can not say. It is for their protection." Balmaedee sternly stated.

The Ship Master watched as the small family, concealed in torn and tattered coverings, vanished into the hallways of his ship. "I must speak with you, Major, as something quite odd has happened. I just received word from his Holiness Regret. The Prophets of Truth and Mercy are coming with the Armada."

Balmaedee stepped closer. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. I was telling his Holiness Regret that I would be pursuing the enemy ship, but I was told not to. That Truth and Mercy were coming to establish peaceful communication with them. This enemy is called the Jiralhanae and they will be welcomed into the Covenant! They blindly attacked my recon group destroying two ships before we could fully raise shields, and then destroyed your ship moments later. Sangheili blood has been needlessly shed because of these beasts! How can we simply accept this? The council must stand up to this action!"

"The council will be made aware, but this isn't the first time a brothers' blood has been shed. The same can be said when we accepted the Unggoy, the Kig-Yar, Lekgolo and the Yanmee'. It would seem that every enemy we encounter is to eventually be our ally."

"For the glory of our Covenant, I suppose." The Ship Master did not seem pleased with the statement he had just made. It was what they were all taught in their academy days; that the glory of the Covenant came before all. Yet there was something distasteful about the Jiralhanae, a bad seed that none of the Elites could understand; a natural rivalry between two powerful races. The death of those who died on the Outpost World would never be forgotten.

Simyaldee and Balmaedee made their way to the crew quarters and joined Vasmeola and her brothers. The battle was over for now, but there was still much explaining to do. M'atralee had received extensive aid and wore a healing brace upon his arm; he would be ready for combat in a matter of days. Simyaldee sat in a corner of the room while Balmaedee stood in the center, looking at Vasmeola.

She returned the glare. "Why did you bring us back? We abandoned the Covenant just as it abandoned us."

"Princess, you may speak without fear." Balmaedee looked to M'atralee. M'atralee pulled his pad from his pocket and instantly jammed all transmissions in the room. "You have nothing to fear. The House of Vas is one of our most honored… "

"The House of Vas is no more!" She returned.

Balmaedee looked to Simyaldee. "How much did you tell her?"

Simyaldee stood, and shook his head in confusion. "Nothing, I would not speak of anything to her beyond my knowledge."

Curiously Balmaedee smirked. "Ah, then now I understand her frustration. Simyaldee did not tell you who he is, and in effect who we are. You would then understand why you can trust us."

Vasmeola squinted curiously. "He is a warrior, for the Covenant. Me and my family are now considered Heretics by covenant law…"

Balmaedee cut off Vasmeola's statement and knelt slowly before her, M'atralee as well. "Princess, do you know of the Unwritten Law created by the council?"

Stunned that someone beyond the council knew of it, Vasmeola glared at him. "Yes… my father… he suggested it the council nearly twenty rotations ago … the secret law to protect us from those who would mean us harm." She motioned for them to stand, but they refused. M'atralee urged Simyaldee to kneel as well. He did, although he did not understand why.

Balmaedee added, "The Unwritten Law, its formal name is?

Vasmeola replied, "The Mirratord Law." Simyaldee snapped suddenly to attention. Vasmeola looked at him wondering why he seemed so alarmed. To her knowledge, the Mirratord Law was never revealed to anyone beyond the Elite High Council. The only reason she was aware of it was because of her father. "But you should not know of this Law… it is meant only for the High Council."

"The meaning of the Unwritten Mirratord Law is; _to do evil to the Sangheili way of life and Sangheili traditions is to die by Sangheili hands."_ Balmaedee stood. "My lady, we are the products of your father's Unwritten Law. We are the right hand of the Sangheili High Council. We are the Mirratord."

_To be continued._


	9. House of Vas, Sangheili Hands

**Section 9: House of Vas, Sangheili Hands **

"_Only a female can carry on the trait. Only a female can continue this bloodline." -- Excerpt from "Guardian of the Luminous Key"_

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_The Truth and Reconciliation_  
Abandoned Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

The Spec Ops Division leader for the _Fleet of Particular Justice, _stepped down from the Phantom's landing ramp and rested. He sat upon the edge and hung his head low. He removed his helmet with a sulking grace and placed it at his side. The Spec Ops Commander was still inside, continuing the inspection. The Division Leader was in deep thought, as something had happened while they were on the ship.

One of the guard details for the Phantom approached him. "Sir, what is the problem?"

He looked up, his eyes heavy from a thought he could not share. "Nothing… nothing. Return to your station." The Spec Ops soldier looked at him and slowly obeyed. He turned and returned to his post, standing at the base of the ramp.

The familiar sound of hoofs clapping against the metal surface of the ramp filled their ears, and the Spec Ops guards, as well as the Division Leader, looked up to Commander Vadumee as he descended. The Spec Ops Commander stopped at the Division Leader's side and looked at him briefly.

"Warriors… take him away for further questioning." Commander Vadumee continued down the path. His poise was rock solid with no sign of doubt or regret. The Commander knew what had to be done. "If the Division Leader resists arrest… kill him."

The guards looked to the Spec Ops commander with a sense of doubt, not fully understanding their orders. The Division Leader had been in charge of them for many years, and to arrest a superior officer was not something easily done. His honor would be removed, his family name placed in question, tainting his bloodline even if he was proven innocent of whatever crime he was accused of.

"Commander… under what cause should we arrest our Division Leader?" The guard questioned. "Surely we can vouch for his…"

Vadumee spun around and glared at the soldier. His gaze cut into the warriors very soul. "He is to be charged with possible treason to the Covenant! And if you question my orders once again, you will join him! Does another family need to have their name dishonored this day?"

"No Commander… it is just that he…."

"He is your Division Leader! He was responsible for the duties of every Spec Ops warrior within this garrison! A Prophet was murdered under his watch… as well as thirteen of my Spec Ops! Their lives were all under his watch!" Vadumee calmed himself and stepped away from the warrior, a Spec Ops that just happened to be older than he was. "Arrest him. I have work to do." He turned and walked away.

The guard prepared to speak again, to continue protesting until the Commander understood that he could not dishonor the Division Leader in such a way, yet the Division Leader stood and placed a hand to his shoulder.

"It is alright." The Division Leaders stated with a heavy head. "He is not doing this of his own volition. There is no evidence of who the killer is or where he could be. The Prophets will not be pleased. This is the only thing we could agree on. If not me, then the whole of the Special Operations unit will be put to shame for this travesty."

"But sir…"

"No. The Commander is correct. Either one falls without honor, or we all fall." The Division Leader removed his weapons and his active camouflage pack from his armor. The guard was speechless, and simply watched as two other Spec Ops approached and led him toward the brig.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Sangheili Ship hovering near Capital City  
Outpost World  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

The room fell silent. The eyes of Vasmeola's family all peered at the three warriors before them. The young males did not know of the Mirratord, or the Unwritten law, but Vasmeola knew of everything. Her father wanted to be sure that she knew the family past, and kept no secrets from his oldest daughter. Vasmeola's eyes slowly turned to face Simyaldee. He was still kneeling toward her from the corner of the room, his eyes cast downward most likely in deep thought.

He was still new to the Mirratord way, and though he had been accepted, he had not been fully indoctrinated into the group. There was so much Simyaldee did not understand. The fact that Vasmeola knew of the Mirratord, that her father was the originator of the idea, was only complicating the matter.

Vasmeaola stepped passed Balmaedee and M'atralee. She knelt in front of Simyaldee and cupped his hand. "If I had known …" She whispered. She knelt and lifted Simyaldee to his feet. "If you truly are the Mirratord, then you know that talking in my presence is forbidden."

Balmaedee shook off this dispute. "No. The House of Vas is our most honored of royal families. And you are the eldest and last to hold the knowledge of the Unwritten Mirratord Law. You must be taken to the council."

"No!" Simyaldee protested. "Doing so is not possible."

"He is correct." Vasmeola stated. Balmaedee watched them both, their movements and their gestures. He watched as Simyaldee slowly positioned himself in front of Vasmeola. The movement was subtle, yet obvious.

Balmaedee motioned toward them. "Despite what you two have been through in the past few days, there are things that must be done."

Vasmeola pleaded. "You do not understand. The Honor of my family is no longer as strong as it once was."

"I understand that the bloodline of the House of Vas has not been severed. I understand that you are the last female within your family. I understand that only you can continue your family name. What more do I need to understand?" Balmaedee pleaded to her, almost begging for her to explain herself. "We are your guard, princess. Your words will not leave this room."

Vasmeola, filled with shame, lowered her head and mumbled words that she thought to never speak again. "I …"

- - - - - - - -

Five years ago ….

The House of Vas  
Outpost World  
January 2433 :: Sol Relative Time

The screen dimmed as the power was turned off. Standing before it was an aged elder wearing traditional Sangheili garb. He stood motionless for several moments as he gathered his thoughts. His new home, a massive estate on the edge of the first city to be built on a conquered world, was empty. The sounds of birds echoed off the polished stone floor, singing their afternoon songs. Yet even this peaceful setting was not enough to calm him.

He motioned for the rear of the home, to the area where his young family was at play. He was the head of the House of Vas, the eldest in the clan. His name was Bro'vasleo. His young mate was watching over their three children as they played in the open field behind the house. He stopped at the outer porch and gazed at his young daughter and two younger brothers. They joyfully wrestled in the field, though there mother begged for Vasmeola to stop, as it was not a female's nature to wrestle with the boys. Bro'vasleo chuckled. She had always been more into the ways of young warriors than any female in the House of Vas. She had even shown interest in being a Watchman. Yet as a female it would be nearly impossible for her to achieve such a thing, unless she had the training to make her better than all of her class. The master would train her, and he would make her the best warrior in the Armada.

Bro'vasleo gritted his mandibles tightly in frustration. He wanted his first born daughter to be happy, regardless of tradition. He was an Elder for the Elite High Council, and he would not have his daughter's wishes blown away because of the silly traditions of his kin. But the thought took him back to his communication with the Master. The Master had told him no.

"My dear, you seem so tense."

Bro'vasleo was suddenly pulled out of his focus as his young mate embraced him. "Yes. I was just refused by the Master."

"This is a good thing." His young mate replied. "Our daughter is of Royal Blood. She has no place in a class of Watchmen or at the Master's camp. She will be a lady of Royalty, and will carry on the bloodline of the Vas House."

"But that is not what she wants…"

"She is a child. She grew up under your watchful eye. What more could you expect? She only knows of the tales of Warriors, war, and of course her Grandfather's legacy."

Bro'vasleo smirked. "Father was the Arbiter, my dear. He is the reason you live so lavishly."

"And I thank him for it. Yet do you think he would approve of your attempting to get her into the Academy? No he would not. As far as we know, she may be the last female of our family, the last to carry on our bloodline. If she joins the military…"

Bro'vasleo turned to her and peered into her eyes. "Who says she has to be the last female?" The two of them laughed and he picked the small female up and carried her into the house, leaving the children outside to play.

The next day, Bro'vasleo found himself on the edge of a dirt path, staring into a camp of small huts and buildings. Young Sangheili males paraded around the camp, running drills and sparring against one another. This was the camp that young males who were considered to hard to train were taken. Here they were broken, given focus, and turned into the best of the Sangheili warriors. For ten years this camp had been pushing out the best soldiers in the armada, though they never spoke of their training here.

Bro'vasleo stepped into the camp watching as the young trainers stopped their students' workout and made them bow respectfully. They all continued immediately afterwards, but it was good that he was still recognized as an elder, even without the armor or robe.

As he neared the center of the camp he spotted the old warrior that was considered the master. He nodded from afar and stopped several feet away. The warrior with no name watched him closely and huffed. He gave one last order to one of the trainers and approached Bro'vasleo.

"Elder, what do I owe the honor?"

"Do not speak as if you do not know why I am here." Bro'vasleo stated smoothly. "May we speak away from the children's ears?" They walked away from the young so they could speak easily without being heard, yet close enough so that the Master could watch over his camp.

"If this is still about your daughter…"

Bro'vasleo interrupted. "You know that it is. She has our bloodline, she has our mind, what more do you need?"

"She should be baring children, not killing them. Only a female can carry on the bloodline of our legacy. You would risk that by allowing her to join the Covenant ranks?"

Bro'vasleo huffed as he shifted in place. "I know her role, but why should she be burdened with such a duty? She has the calling of a warrior. She wishes to see combat and protect the lives of the Sangheili. You can make her the best."

The master looked into the camp. "Do you know what you have created in this camp? Killers! These warriors will fight to the death, killing our enemies and our ally's alike if need be."

"I funded this camp, these buildings, and sponsored you to lead it. All I ask is that you give her a chance." Bro'vasleo pleaded.

The master looked to him oddly. "Are you listening to me? Females should not kill, they should nurture and cherish, to love and know medicine, to heal and bring up the young. They should not know combat or the brutality of killing another. Do you really want to see your daughter's hand stained with blood? It has been many years since you have seen combat. Have you forgotten how brutal it is to the heart and mind?"

He stepped closer to Bro'vasleo and looked at him sternly, forcing his words into the elders head so that he would understand. "She is your daughter and I understand the desire to give her everything she could want, but if you do this she will no longer be your daughter. She will be a killer, and if she's good enough… the council will take her and use her for their will. Perhaps if she were of a different house I would consider training her. I am quite curious to see what your daughter can do, but as a female child from the House of Vas, I will never let her train for combat. Her bloodline is too pure. When Elder Barremee joined the council things changed. His bloodline was and is considered the last. We can not risk the news of your daughter spreading."

Bro'vasleo sighed heavily. "I understand that, but it is not her fault that she was born this way. This is more than a father doting upon his daughter. She has more passion to enter the Academy then my sons. Me and my mate intend to try and have another female, but Vasmeola has the desire and the heart of a warrior. How can I deny her this? She will reach the age of the Watchman in two years, and I can not stand the idea of telling her no. She will not be the first female to enter the academy. Many females have gone before her and led soldiers into battle. She knows that it will be hard for her, she has heard many tales of females who have successfully become soldiers, but this is her dream. Since she reached the age of knowing what the Academy is, that is all she has desired. As her father, can I deny her the one thing she wants the most?"

"You do know what the council will say if you take her to the Academy?"

"I am not afraid of the council. I know that they will take her, and use her, but upon becoming a Watchman she will have the right to decide her own path… she will… she will be an adult."

"And no longer be your daughter." The master sighed heavily as he folded his arms upon his chest. "She will be taken by the Covenant to become their instrument, and the council will take her into the Mirratord. There will be nothing you can do, not even as an elder, to persuade them away from their actions. Her bloodline is pure, Bro'vasleo. She will become a member of the Mirratord if she enters the Academy. If this does not scare you away from this idiotic pursuit, than nothing will."

Several days pass, several days of thought and torment upon an old mind. Bro'vasleo sat up from his rest and faced a new morning. His mate slept idle by his side. He journeyed into the distant room and powered on his communications panel.

With a deep inhale he began to record. "To the High Council, from the eldest son of the House of Vas. This is Elder Bro'vasleo head elder of the outpost world. I hereby declare that in two years I will be taking my first born to the Parade of the Watchmen. It will be a proud moment for me and the House of Vas." He paused to gather his thoughts; how to word this correctly.

"It will be a difficult day for the House of Vas, as many of you can understand. For my first born will not be welcomed without smirks and glares from the other Watchmen. Yet I ask that you, the members of the High Council, understand that this is something that I can not deny my first born. Regardless of your reply, my fist born will march in that Parade." He pressed a button upon the display, ending the recording. He then pressed several more strokes and the recording was sent to the High Council on Dorenth. It would take several days to reach the Elite home planet, but none the less he knew they would respond without delay. He turned and began to dress and made his way to his children's room.

Softly he spoke to his oldest, "Vasmeola, wake up. It is time to begin your training."

For several days they trained, Vasmeola shed her sweat and blood all with the desire of entering the Academy and living up to the legend of her grandfather, the Arbiter. They would get up early at dawns earliest light, and venture into the fields behind their home. Here her father showed her the weapons of the Sangheili; the plasma pistol, the rifle, and the carbine. These were worthy weapons of any soldier, but none more than the Energy Sword. Vasmeola looked at it with awe, but this was not a weapon she would be able to handle until many years into her career as a soldier.

It was on the evening of her fifth day of training that she was discovered by her mother. "Vasmeola! Stop this, now!"

Bro'vasleo stood between them. "My dear, she must be ready for the parade. She must be skilled in all verses of combat. If she is not she will not be able to graduate from the Academy. She must be the best."

"Are you insane?" She questioned her mate. "She is your only daughter…"

"I am the head of this house!" Bro'vasleo roared, calming her retort. Vasmeola also shied away. She had never heard her father shout in such a way. "She is my child, and this is her dream."

His mate lowered her head, but still spoke her peace. "And when this house is mocked because of your deeds, I hope you will be ready to clean it up. A message arrived today from the Council, it was marked urgent." She turned and walked back into the house.

Vasmeola shuffled to her father's side. Her skin patched with dried dirt and sweat. "Will mother accept this?"

"No my child. Your mother comes from a long line of royalty. She can not understand why you would choose to enter the Academy, and why I encourage it. She does not know the heart of a warrior. Go clean yourself before dinner. We will start again in the morning." Vasmeola happily ran off to bathe, while her father slowly walked into the house. He was curious about the message and wondered what the council would say. He journeyed to the terminal and sealed the door to the room. He opened the voice message a saw that it was encrypted. He used his command password and the message began.

"_From the Elite High Council to the eyes of Elder Bro'vasleo, Head Elder of the Outpost Worl._

"_It has been many years since we have spoken with you brother, and many things have happened since your last report. Those trained in the law not written, are starting to shine. We have much to look forward to from them. However, we are somewhat confused by your decision. Is not your first born child a female? We ask that you reconsider this act. A female in the Academy will bring much attention to your House. The form of attention we can not afford you to have. If she stands out, which is possible considering her bloodline, it will raise many questions into the House of Vas. You do understand that this could lead to many things, including evidence of the training camp. We can not allow this, Bro'vasleo. Reconsider… we beg of you. Think beyond your father's pride, and see the bigger picture."_

The transmission ended, and Bro'vasleo turned off the recording. He deleted the file and walked into the dinning area with his family. He tossed the words from the High Council out of his mind, and enjoyed his evening supper.

Outpost World  
June 2435 :: Sol Relative Time

Two years came and went, two hard years of teaching Vasmeola, and his two oldest males, the basics of combat. Soon his oldest two sons would be able to walk in the Parade of the Watchmen, but now it Vasmeola's turn. Bro'vasleo knew it would not be an easy day for his family, but he had prepared everything as best he could. He pulled on his armor, the silver and red of the High Council, and tossed on his cloak. He picked up his helmet and watched as the eyes of his children glowed before him. They had never seen him dawn his Covenant armor, and the site was awe inspiring.

As the head f the Council on the Outpost World, Bro'vasleo would speak at the ceremony and lead the parade of Watchmen through the city streets and to the Academy gates. From that moment on the Watchmen would be in the hands of the instructors. It would be up to the teachers and instructors to decide who would be permitted into the Academy. Vasmeola's fate was no longer in his hands. Bro'vasleo was concerned if he had done enough to prepare her? Had the Master trained her she would have been easily accepted, as none of his students are rejected, but being a female will instantly make it difficult for her.

Bro'vasleo pulled on his massive helmet. It was decorated with a large outstretching headdress that curved back and upward into a U shape. This was the sign of the Sangheili High Council, and he wore it with pride. Yet a part of him knew that his role would change very soon. Once the other councilors see his daughter in the parade, they would not hesitate to react. With a toss of his left hand, he pulled down one strip of his red cloak over his right shoulder and strode down the hall.

"Father." Came Vasmeola's voice. Bro'vasleo looked to his first born and smiled. She had matured in stature, grown to her full height of nearly seven feet, and she was nicely toned. There was no mistaking her as a female, yet she looked capable of handling herself in combat. She wore the colors of the Watchmen, loose fitting white clothes and a red belt, as she smiled happily. "You look incredible." She gleefully admired her father's armor, the armor of an Elite Councilman.

"This armor is old, and clumsy, unlike the armor used by true warriors. It is only for political purposes that we wear it. Yet your grandfather, his armor was legendary. Perhaps one day, when you join the military, you will see the armor of the Arbiter inside the Mausoleum." He turned and began to leave the house. "I will see you in the parade. Do not be late."

"I will not, father." Vasmeola stood at the door and watched as her father walked into the city. Massive ships lingered overhead in the distance as Seraph and Banshee fighters danced in the sky. Today was a celebration, and across every Elite world the atmosphere was the same, today was a day when the Prophet's stepped aside and let the Elite's celebrate the birth right of their young.

Vasmeola trembled with excitement, in a few hours she would also be walking the streets too cheers from her kin. Though she had to accept that there would be many who would protest her walk, she was a female and a females place was not in combat. But she would prove them wrong. She had to.

Bro'vasleo arrived at the central plaza, and as expected he was not welcomed with open arms. Despite all the cheering and festivities happening around them, several of the councilmen at his side seemed bitter. Yet one of them didn't care.

"Welcome brother." Bro'vasleo's long time friend stated. "I assume you can sense their tension."

"Yes. They are worried that I will let my daughter walk today." Bro'vasleo softly replied.

"I must warn you, there has been mentioning of someone throwing stones at your daughter. I doubt it will happen, merely a scare tactic."

"There would be much shame on the name of someone who did such a deed."

"Yes. I am sure it is only a rumor, to make you do something you may regret. However, you should still be weary. The council is not happy about this. Think of the weight she carries upon her. The council has asked nicely…"

"When I last checked, I was the head elder on this Outpost. And as such, my word is law. I was voted as Head Elder by all of them, and now they look upon me as if I am their enemy."

"But you do understand what is at risk…"

"More than anyone, brother." Bro'vasleo stepped toward the podium as several Seraph fighters hovered in the distance. The rest of the council took their positions at the side of the podium and Bro'vasleo lifted his arms into the air. "Let the Parade of the Watchmen commence!"

The Seraphs accelerated over the city, streaking in an arrow formation toward the gathering crowd of young Elite warriors that began to huddle together. Vasmeola looked into the sky just as the fighters banked overhead, the parade had begun. She was surrounded by young males, some taller and some shorter than she was, but all were dressed the same. They happily waved into the crowd that surrounded the streets. Family members, spectators and even soldiers from the fleet had come to pay their respect to the future Elite warriors.

Vasmeola happily chuckled with the other young at her side, they didn't care that she was a female, but there were a few older pre-teens in the parade. These older males had washed out during the last parade, and did not become watchmen. They had to wait another year to enter the academy, and they understood the differences in a male and female. They knew she didn't belong, and eyed her menacingly. She ignored them and waved to the crowd as they continued down the streets to the tune of trumpets and drums. Confetti flapped to the streets as the massive ensemble of youths made there way closer to the academy.

The crowd began to thin as the parade was near its completion and the remaining spectators watched in silence. This crowd was much different then the earlier stretch of the parade, it was now mostly soldiers and councilmen that stood at the street's edge. Vasmeola looked ahead, and she could see the gates of the Academy courtyard ahead. The towering gates stood more then twenty feet high and stretched at least fifty feet wide. Perched atop the two support columns for the gate were two heavily armed instructors, each holding a spear and wearing golden armor that was stripped with red accents. They gazed into the crowd of young as if they were looking for someone. They randomly pointed into the front of the crowd, and two Elites would race into the group of youths and pull several of them out of the parade. This was unexpected, but soon Vasmeola heard her father's voice.

"Before the gates shall part. The honored leaders of this academy will chose those who are impure for this class."

It was a visual entrance test. Vasmeola was worried, but she dared not show them fear. The honored leaders were looking for something, a visual key that told them you were not ready to walk into the academy grounds. She wasn't going to fail. She would at least make it into the Academy, she had too. Vasmeola watched the other young at her side. They were nervous, their heads were low. But the older males in the parade held their heads high, bold and not afraid. She would take their visual cue. She held her stance and tightened her mandibles firmly as she watched the honored leaders continue to pick random youths. The eyes of the honored washed over her and they both glared at her sternly.

She froze.

For Elites within the Covenant there were only several roles: A soldier, a breeder, Royalty, or farmer. Only the higher class warriors earned the right to call themselves Elders, or to sit upon the High Council. Even Royalty was not guaranteed unless you were born in the right family, and Farmers were not allowed to do anything aside from learn medicine and terraforming; preparing an uninhabitable world for colonizing. But one thing was for sure, as a watchman in the Parade you were nothing. You had no place, no rank and no bloodline.

The white clothes represented a fresh start. It was the traditions of the Elites, that when they began there years as a Watchman, they had to forget their familial ties, and relearn their life. The red belt was a sign of unity with the ancient Elite ways. Red was the color of their bond to the past.

So many thoughts raced through her head as she watched the honored leader raise his hand. So many thoughts of why she was being pointed out, why she was not going to be able to see inside the courtyard of the Academy. She felt his finger upon her heart, as if he had climbed down from his perch and placed his finger directly upon her. Within seconds she was gripped by an armored male, yet her eyes never left the Honored leaders gaze. She was protesting his decision, though she never spoke a word.

Their eyes locked.

Was he pressured into removing her because she was a female? Did they not think she was worthy? Was there more to this than merely appearing ready? She was pulled clear of the crowd of youths and left standing at the side of the street. More and more youths were pulled from the crowd and made to watch. Some cried, some showed there frustration by storming away from the parade area, yet they could not leave. They had to watch, they must watch. Vasmeola kept her head high and she showed no weakness, unlike the other children.

Soon the gates parted, and the young watchmen entered. The doors remained open as the last of the parade vanished around the bend. That was when things began to get interesting. The two honored leaders jumped from the top of their perch and walked toward the center of the street. They smashed the end of their staffs upon the ground and they sparked with a puff of dust. Mumbles began to fill the crowd of on looking soldiers, as if they knew what was to come.

Vasmeola overheard the soldier behind her speak. "A week's worth of rations say it will be less than three this year."

"I will take that bet. A lot of them wept in frustration. Not to mention this young female. She showed no fear or remore." The two soldiers chuckled. They indeed know what was going to happen.

From inside the gate walked a large male, decorated in a long flowing cloak much like Vasmeola's father, but his helmet was not as decorated. His armor was gold and his cloak was a darker red then that of the Council. He walked between the two honored leaders of the Academy and huffed.

"I am the Supreme Commander of _the Fleet of Divine Light_. And now the Honored Leaders will choose those who have been called to lead." The young elites gasped. "Some of you were picked because you displayed something that was lacking in the others. However, some of you were picked because you are not ready."

The two honored walked away from the Supreme Commander, walking to the left and right respectfully. They walked around inspecting the children they had pointed out. They stopped at certain children and growled over them, testing their poise. None of the young backed away.

The first honored spoke, "I choose the young from the House of Maz, to lead this year's academy class as First Chair." Roars of approval came from their family as the young male stepped back into the street.

The Supreme Commander spoke, "Stand at my side young one." The young male gracefully strode toward the Supreme Commander. "Why is he your choice?"

The honored spoke, "His eyes are filled with fire. He has a questioning nature, and he calmed several of the young who seemed afraid. For now, he has what could be a leader's persona.

"Then it shall be so." The Supreme Commander stated.

The second honored spoke, "I recall the young from the House of Yam." Cheerfully the young male exhaled. The Supreme commander summoned him forward.

The first honored added, "I recall the young from the House of Tam." This continued for three more young, of the nearly thirty that were pulled from the parade. Then the two stopped at Vasmeola. She looked at them without much hesitation, only hoping to hear them call her name. They were both clearly debating within themselves on how to proceed.

And then the first spoke, "I recall the young from the House of Vas."

Her heart stopped. Mumbles from the crowd turned into outright protest from the councilmen on the side of the street. She stepped forward but the noise from the crowd grew defining.

"Silence!" The Supreme Commander roared. "This is the Honored Leaders' decision! None of you have any say in the matter! She is not the first female to enter any of our Academies and she will not be the last."

Several of the council man stepped into the street, making their presence known. "Choose another."

The Supreme Commander bowed in respect yet held his reason. "Elders, this is most unacceptable. My voice is but a sign of strength for the Academy, not even I can persuade the choice of the Leaders."

"Honored Leaders, you must choose another. She can not be permitted into the Academy." Stated another elder.

"What is the meaning of this?" Bro'vasleo stepped into the street as a deep growl filed his throat. He glared at the two elders that spoke out against his daughter. "What ill do you have against the House of Vas that you would deny a child her right? It is not written that she can not enter the Academy!"

The first Honored spoke, "High Elder, do not fret. Our decision is final. I recall the youth from the House of Vas!"

"So be it." The Supreme Commander smiled to young Vasmeola and waved her forward. The other young elites at his side happily waited for Vasmeola to join them, however, she was gripped by an elder's hand; the same elder that Bro'vasleo called a friend.

He held up a data pad and showed it to the Honored leaders. "Forgive me, Bro'vasleo. You pushed us into revealing this hand. We did all we could to stop you." Bro'vasleo stormed toward Vasmeola and his friend and pulled his arm off of her.

The Honored grabbed the pad and read its message, with shock written upon his face. "Remove this child from these grounds!" The crowd fell silent; shocked at the turn of events.

"What is it?" Bro'vasleo held Vasmeola's hand and approached the Honored. The honored shamefully gave him the pad.

The honored spoke, "That concludes the Parade. For those of you who were not accepted, remember what you have learned and return next year." The honored, the young and the Supreme Commander walked back into the gate as it slowly shut.

Two elders stepped from the crowd and sternly looked at Bro'vasleo as he read the data. "Elder Bro'vasleo, we demand that you step down from the council immediately. For your service to the covenant and this Outpost World, we will not charge you with any contempt, however…"

"A … traitor?" Bro'vasleo questioned as he dropped the data pad. "This can not be."

"… the name of Vas has no position in the Sangheili Council. Your status has been revoked."

Vasmeola was infuriated and picked up the data pad, curious about its contents.

_-- From his Holiness the Prophet of Mercy._

_To the Hierarchs of Truth and Regret._

"_The Actions of the Unggoy have shown us that they are determined to thwart our Covenant. The Unggoy King has completely turned his kin against us, all because they chose to follow the advisements of an uninformed Sangheili? The Unggoy are rioting in the halls of High Chairty. Do they really think they can earn their freedom by doing something so reckless? _

"_It is as I warned. Letting the Unggoy sit upon the council was ill-advised. And now, they turn against us for the sake of freedom? The Unggoy king was advised by one of the Sangheili's most respected Field Masters, it was his words that started this Rebellion and therefore I will promptly end his command. Also, I will do something far more useful. If this Field Master respects his house, than he will do what is right, he will end this Rebellion and return the Covenant to peace._

"_He will dawn the armor of the Arbiter, for his family's sake. His house, the House of Vas, will know him , hidden behind the facade of the Sangheili Hero. He will fight, or we will dishonor his family name and reveal him to be the traitor he is. He will be branded for this treason, but no one will know his crime. But let it be documented. The Head of the House of Vas will die as a traitor to the Covenant, but a hero to his kin." --  
_

"Father… no. No! This is not real! It can not be!" Vasmeola dropped the pad and stomped on it, smashing it beneath her hoofs. She pulled away from her father and ran toward his friend, the one that first dawned the data pad. Yet before she could get close she was grabbed by a young guard.

"Calm yourself, Princess. Show honor even in this dark time."

She ignored him and screamed toward the elder. "Why are you lying? Why would you do this to our honor? Our family?"

"Take what little honor you have and be gone from our site, young one!" He replied. "Balmaedee, remove them from the Parade grounds!"

Though she fought against Balmaedee, she could not hope to free herself or cared about his identity. Her blood curling anger was without satisfaction as she was left at the door of her home. Her father sat silently in the entrance. His helmet had been taken from him and his cloak torn.

"Forgive me, Vasmeola. I did not know they would go to this extent."

"He was not a traitor." Vasmeola mumbled. "Grandfather was the Arbiter… they lied."

"No. He did what he believed was the correct course of action for renewed support with the Unggoy. He often spoke highly of them, yet… I never knew why he did not return from the council meeting." Vasmeola wept softly to herself, as footsteps approached them from the street.

Vasmeola's mother stood upon the path to the door with her young at her side. "What have you done? I watched it all… the shame, the humiliation. You could not leave it alone! Now what will we do? Our name carries no weight or honor. How will we eat? What do our children have to look forward to?"

Bro'vasleo stood and began to walk into the house. "This is not the time…"

"No! You have doomed our family! You will not walk away from me!" She followed him into the house leaving their children sitting on the porch. Vasmeola continued to softly sob, not because of her being refused from the Academy, but because of what she learned of her grandfather. She buried her head into her lap and felt the embrace of her two brothers; the oldest. Together they sat, ignoring the screams coming from inside their home. Their newborn brother gripped Vasmoela leg and she reached down picked him up. She cradled the youngest in her arms as the four of them sat alone.

Outpost World  
April 2437 :: Sol Relative Time

Another two years pass, they were hard years for Vasmeola and her family, and suddenly came the news that the planet was going be evacuated. Bro'vasleo, already angry, turned his torment toward the Outpost World High Council.

"Why are we being forced to leave?" Bro'vasleo questioned in a general assembly meeting. "We farmed, we sweat, we turned the terrain of this world into something useful, but now the Prophets say we must leave? Explain to us why?"

The new head elder spoke. "The Council understands your question, brother. Yet we have no answers to give to you. Our orders are simple and they came with the Sangheili High Council's consent. We are to begin evacuation procedures immediately. All civilians will be taken back to Dorenth, the mother land, and we have less than one year to complete it."

"What of this years Academy students?" Another civilian questioned. "Will there be one more year of Prospects?"

"Yes. There will be one more group of Watchmen before the Academy closes." The elder raised his hand to end the questions. "As you all know, it is not easy to evacuate an entire world, however the Holy Prophets have given us much time to do what must be done. I advise all of you to now return to your families, see to it that the transition is well received. This adjourns this meeting." The crowd rose from their seating, yet Bro'vasleo sat patiently. He knew that the meeting was over, but the discussions would continue amongst the councilors. He needed to speak with them.

He stood and walked toward the councilmen's table. "High Elder, a word if you please."

"We have nothing to discuss, Bro'vasleo."

Bro'vasleo looked around assuring that no one could hear. "Have you unleashed the Unwritten Law?"

The elders acted as though they did not know what he meant. "Bro'vasleo, you speak in riddles. Be gone, go to your family and…"

"You know damned well what I mean!" He slammed his fist upon the table, but quickly calmed his fury. "This is another backstabbing act of the Prophets. I created that law exactly for this moment! Unleash them! Why are the Prophets evacuating us…" Bro'vasleo froze as he felt a tight grip upon his shoulder. He turned his head and glared into the eyes of a young, yet strong, Elite soldier. He wore the purple bars of the Mirratord upon his black armor.

The new head elder softly stated, "As I said, go home to your family, Bro'vasleo. Maintain what little honor you have left, and protect your child. We are doing what MUST be done." He nodded toward the Mirratord officer, and the young warrior backed away. Bro'vasleo turned fully around and saw nothing. All traces of the Mirratord warrior had vanished, like a ghost. "Do as you are told, for once Bro'vasleo. Think of your family."

The walk home was long, and arguably the longest walk in Bro'vasleo's life. His position was lost, and returning to Dorenth would mean returning to nothing. He no longer had the honor to move into the Inner Sanctum along with the other retired elders, but he also did not have the support to build a new home, and work to rebuild his name. He had lost everything. Without his title and the honor that came with it, he was nothing less than a commoner.

Vasmeola sat upon the front entryway as he approached, and could sense the pain on his face. "What happened at the meeting?"

"Nothing."

"That is exactly what I thought you would say." She chuckled. "You've been very depressed lately, father, and I will not accept your answers. Now, tell me. What happened today?"

"The Unwritten Law has been unleashed." He sat upon the steps leading to the door. Vasmeola sat at his side.

"Then, this is good. It means that you still have respect in the council's eyes."

"No. What I saw today, what I saw in that young warriors eyes… it was bloodlust. Tamed and controlled, but none the less it was bloodlust. He would have killed me had I continued to protest."

"But father, you said the Unwritten Law was going to protect us? Did they threaten you?"

"No. They merely showed me the product of my dreams. It was a killer, a killer that would do anything to maintain an idea. What I saw was not of the Covenant or of the Sangheili race. It was… by the Gods, I can not find the words. What have I created? What is the Mirratord?"

The front door opened and Bro'vasleo's mate walked through. "Vasmeola, walk with me to the market. There are some things I need for supper."

"Father and I have things to discuss."

Her mother sighed heavily. "You are not a soldier, you are not a medical trainee. You are a female, like myself, and the last female in this family. You need to learn housekeeping and how to prepare yourself for the coming change. You will not find a suitable mate by talking with your father."

"Mother!" Vasmeola was torn that she spoke so arrogantly of her father.

"It is alright." Bro'vasleo stated. He smiled softly toward her. "Go with your mother. But I will tell you both this, you will hear words of evacuation this evening. I am sure it will be the topic of choice. But know this, we are not leaving."

"I understand father. We shall talk more when I return."

"No, you will not." Her mother walked on. "You will learn to turn a deaf ear to him soon enough."

Vasmeola sorrowfully ran after her mother, "Why do you talk that way toward him? If you are angry with anyone, be angry with me. Father has had to deal with enough torment. At least let him come home and be happy."

"Happy? We were happy, until he got the foolish notion to enlist his daughter in the grand crusade. Foolish, old Sangheili!"

After arriving at the market, Vasmeola and her mother took their position in line. Generally when they arrived at a table of meats or produce, they were able to jump to the head of the line and offered the freshest of the supply, but now things were different. Without the title and honor of being in an elder's household, they were no longer privileged to the prime stock. Like the rest of the commoners, they were left with day old meats and sometimes older.

The food they received was based on services that Vasmeola's mother attended to during the day. She was once royalty and as such she catered to politicians and served inside the High Council chambers, but now she was reduced to washing clothes for the council, and delivering their food supplies. None the less it was work and the only means to gain food for her family. Like all elite commoners, she worked to eat. Bartering was a way of life.

Before long they made the trek back home, but Vasmeola's mother was still bitter. "No!" Bro'vasleo's mate furiously yelled. "We are leaving and going back to Dorenth! I will take the children and live with my Family. At least their Honor has not been tainted by you!"

He roared, tossed the table aside and gripped her firmly. He pressed her against the wall and shouted, "You will do as I say! I am the head of this house, and I do not trust the Prophets! We will stay here!"

"We have no house because of you!" She was frightened, but her anger outweighed her fears. Vasmeola grabbed her brothers and lead them into the back of the house, away from their feuding parents.

"Stay here. Watch after our brothers. I will be back soon." She told the oldest. He nodded, and Vasmeola ran back to the fight.

Through all his attempts to intimidate his mate, she would not back down. She forcefully struck Bro'vasleo in frustration. She bit, clawed and kicked, without much retaliation. Bro'vasleo snarled as loud as he could, pushed at her back, and roared in a dominating fashion, but his mate was well beyond respecting his dominance. Soon, he gave up, and let her hit him as much as she wanted.

She was, in all respects, entitled to take the children and leave. The Elites shared monogamous relationships, but the females chose their mates based on what they could provide them. Bro'vasleo no longer had the honor and strength that he once carried. He had lost her. A part of him was beginning to believe her. Perhaps he was wrong. The honor they lost was his fault. She had stopped hitting him and he looked up to see why, and that was when he noticed that she had gripped his Plasma Rifle.

"What are you doing?"

"Earning back my honor!" She roared. "I am done with you. I will find another mate, one who is not as blinded like you and the legacy of your traitorous father. I will regain my pride…" The static hiss of energy was clearly recognizable and the searing of flesh, unmistakable. The blade exited her chest and she dropped the rifle.

Bro'vasleo jumped forward and cupped his mate in his arms as she slowly fell forward. "No… no… why… what did you do?" He looked into Vasmeola's eyes as she slowly pulled the sword from her mother's back. He glared deeply into her eyes, deeper then he thought he would ever see. Her eyes were emotionless, cold, like the Mirratord warrior he had seen earlier in the day. It was the same. Her eyes were the same.

"Why! Why would you do this?" He painfully roared at his child. "She was your mother!"

"She wanted to divide us. She threatened to kill you, father! And she slandered the name of Grandfather. I obeyed the law… your law." Her eyes slowly began to flood with tears; as the pain of killing her mother filled her. "She hated you. Yet you loved this family. You did everything you could to make us all happy."

Bro'vasleo lowered his mate's body to the floor and slapped the sword from Vasmeola's hand. He then palmed her face and pushed her across the room. She tumbled backward and rocked to her feet.

"Hate me if you wish, father. But I did what I had to, what must be done!" She wept, even with her stern voice, she wept. "Grandfather was the Arbiter, and you said that he had a reason for what he did."

"She was my love! My mate! If she wanted to kill me then it was her choice!" He crumbled to his knees, painfully sobbing over his fallen mate, and the idea that she was killed by his daughter. Had he not taught Vasmeola how to fight, none of this would have happened."

- - - - - - - -

The present…

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Sangheili Ship hovering near Capital City  
Outpost World  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Vasmeola curled up in the corner of the room, as all eyes followed her. Her younger brothers had never heard the full story, believing that father accidentally killer their mother in a blind rage. That was acceptable, as it had been known for ex-warriors to loose their control, but this was unimaginable.

She continued. "Shortly after we took mother's body into the field. Father buried her with his own hands. He cried throughout the night, and barely had the energy to care about anything after that. He feared that the District Prophet would eventually learn of the dead, and so we left the house and moved into a farming community. We left everything behind. Father was found by a patrol party several days later. I'm sure it was just coincidence that they found us like that. Rumor was spreading of many Sangheili disspearing, only to turn up dead miles away from their homes. Father was released because he provided them with what information he knew."

Vasmeola sat motionless in the corner. She pulled her knees into her chest and dared not too look back at the others. "This is why I can not go back. The House of Vas, is truly without honor."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_The Truth and Reconciliation_  
Abandoned Covenant Armada Base of Operations  
Location: Unknown  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

"And?" The elder questioned softly toward the Spec Ops Commander.

"He agreed. He will take the fall for this, but not the act. He will be reported as having let a murder escape. He will be publicly branded, and imprisoned." Vadumee rubbed his eyes as he hated what he had to do. He had to protect the Mirratord actions, but sacrifice the life another.

"We will stay his execution, though his identity will revoked." The Elder spoke. "We will find a way to relocate him to a different division, under another name. He will rejoin your ranks, as a Spec Ops sub commander." The elder placed his hand upon Vadumee's shoulder. "This honorable soldier will not fall, though branded, he will live."

"How, surely the Prophets will not accept that."

"Do not worry, Commander. As the Mirratord have their ways of doing things, we Councilors have our ways as well. We will have his sentence pardoned. Once he is branded he will be taken to the prison. You will meet him and take him to your ship. Give him the name… Kusovai, and rejoin the Armada."

"Kusovai?" Vadumee pondered. "His honorific is that of a novice… in the Spec Ops? Not many will accept this."

"True, but the House of Sov is skilled and has a distinguished reputation in the military. Now, moving on to our next topic; Rin Simyaldee. Do you think he will be ready?"

Vadumee smirked, slightly at ease that an excellent soldier will be spared. "Yes, Simyaldee will be ready. I know this better than anyone. And if he is not, then I will make him be ready."

_To be Continued._

* * *

NOTE: Things are starting to slow down at this point. Only 3 chapters left (give or take) as I roll out the conclusion. Also, Book 3 will begin swiftly at the completion of the Mirratord. members can head over to the IIWYH thread in New Mombasa and read why I'm starting early. Till next time, Happy holidays and a wonderful new year. 

soulguard


	10. Rin Simyaldee, R’tas Vadumee

**Section 10: Rin Simyaldee, R'tas Vadumee**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_The Truth and Reconciliation_  
Slip Space to Armada Rendezvous Coordinates  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Rtas Vadumee stood at the forward most section of the command deck, and looked over the data pad in his hands. He rubbed his mandibles in thought as he stared at the names upon the list.

"I see. So he is the new Supreme Commander of _the Fleet of Particular Justice_?"

"Yes, Commander." The Ship Master at his side replied. "Once we rejoin the Armada, our Luminous Key will be synchronized with those of the _Fleet of Particular Justice_. He will be our superior for the duration of our term."

"He is older then I thought, yet fairly young for a Supreme Commander." Vadumee mumbled.

"Sir, what do you mean?"

"Nothing." Vadumee sharply replied and quickly changed the subject. "When we arrive I will make the _Infinite Succor_ the Spec Ops base of operations for the _Fleet of Particular Justice._ Send word throughout the fleet and notify all sub-commanders."

"Yes Sir."

"I assume I will need to tell the Prophets of this change. Yet I doubt they will allow another of their kin to be placed under our guard."

"The Hierarchs are forgiving, Commander. They will understand that it was not your fault." The Ship Master added, but his words fell on deaf ears. Vadumee didn't care if they accepted it or not, his mission was clear and he had to bait both sides to achieve it. Halo was real and both the Prophets and Sangheili needed to come together. The Great Journey was more important then their slight differences in politics. And his Mirratord was the sword between them both.

"Commander!" Came a shout from the communications station at the rear of the deck. "There is an encrypted message from the High Council for you."

"Patch it directly to my communicator." Vadumee stared forward as the words of an aged Sangheili elder began to speak into his ear.

"_With the news that the Armada is heading for the Outpost World, we grow concerned for the safety of our Brothers. But seeing that we are negotiating a Treaty, we need to know more information about what is happening there. Move ahead of the Armada, find out what you can. Contact Balmaedee and M'atralee and gather as much intelligence from them as you can." _

"Interesting." Vadumee smiled. He folded his arms and turned to the Ship Master. "Change in plans. Get us to the Outpost World ahead of the Armada."

"Yes… Commander. But High Charity will be able to track us as we pass."

"No matter. The council will handle everything."

"Sir, I must ask what is going on."

"My orders come from the High Council. That is all you need to know."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Sangheili Ship hovering near Capital City  
Outpost World  
March 22, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

The feeling of shame swept over Vasmeola like a cold wind. She shuddered at the cold glances she received from her younger siblings, and she understood their anger. She lowered her head and sat quietly.

"What does this mean?" Simyaldee questioned, cutting into the eerie silence of the room. "Why are we concerned of this? We can ignore this act. None of us will speak of this…"

Balmaedee spoke up. "She has committed a crime, Simyaldee. That can not be ignored. Had it been any other we could have passed this by on a whim of trust for her namesake. However, she killed a ruling queen of the House of Vas."

"But you heard her! The House of Vas was disbanned."

"You should understand, Simyaldee." Balmaedee walked toward Vasmeola. "The council never fully removed the House of Vas, it was all of false act to keep Vasmeola out of the Academy. I was there." Balmaedee stood over Vasmeola and loomed quietly. Simyaldee had seen this before and sprang into action. He stood between Balmaedee and Vasmeola, fearing that the Major would carry out his duty and kill his new mate.

"You will not touch her!" He dared Balmaedee to act.

"Be calm. I will not harm her. But her actions must be passed on to the High Council. Such a crime can not be ignored. It is in their hands now."

"Give us a ship!" Simyaldee pleaded. "The council has no clue as to her location or the fate of her family. Let us leave."

"Us?" Balmaedee questioned curiously. "You may have claimed her, yet you belong to the Mirratord, never forget that." Balmaedee edged passed Simyaldee and gripped Vasmeola, lifting her to her feet. "Come, I will take you to a holding cell. When the council arrives we will inform them of your actions."

Vasmeola looked to Simyaldee, "This is why I did not wish to return. The law must be fulfilled. My father knew this and that is why we ran. I can not avoid this fate."

Simyaldee sulked but couldn't think of anything to say. The group descended to the holding cells passing several rows of Jiralhanae prisoners, mostly wounded. They found an empty group of cells and motioned Vasmeola inside. The prison guard quickly approached.

"Major… a female prisoner?" The guard shockingly stated.

Balmaedee approached him sternly. "Keep the shield down, she will not be a threat to anyone. See that she is well protected and fed. If she needs anything let me know. Treat her with the same respect you would treat any member of your own blood." He then turned to Simyaldee. "You and her siblings are welcome to stay and keep her company. I must go to the command deck and check the status of the Armada."

"What will happen?" Simyaldee questioned, but Balmaedee turned and walked away ignoring his query. Vasmeola gripped Simyaldee's arm and held him tightly. Thankfully Balmaedee allowed for the cell's shield door to remain powered off, giving Vasmeola some since of freedom, but she knew that the council would not spare her their justice.

Simyaldee sat at her side. "If what you said is true, I am sure that the council will understand. Balmaedee believes that you are very valuable, they will not harm you."

"We grew up under the council's watch, I know what they are capable of." Vasmeola softly stated. She looked to her brothers as they continued to glare at her with doubt.

Simyaldee looked to her, pondering the statement she had just made. "What do you mean?"

Vasmeola lowered her head into Simyaldee's chest and whispered, "You are kind to stay with me, but you do not understand the heart of the Mirratord. You do not yet see what your superiors are trying to teach you."

"Yet you do?" Simyaldee chuckled, doubting her words.

"I am the eldest child of Elder Bro'vasleo. I remember everything my father was involved in, even those things he wishes I did not know. The elders will do all that they can to break you and make you into the perfect killing machine."

- - - - - - - -

Balmaedee began his long journey to the command deck when his communicator began to beep. He opened the channel and to his surprise a familiar voice filled his ears.

"_We have just arrived in system. I will be landing on the deck in a few units. Meet me in the main hanger."_

"Yes Commander." Balmaedee clipped the channel and changed his destination. "He is early." He stated to himself. "He came ahead of the Armada, perhaps something has happened."

Balmaedee arrived at the landing deck just as the Commander's drop ship landed. Several Spec Ops descended from the doors along with the Commander as they approached Balmaedee. They greeted each other swiftly and began to walk off the deck.

"What have you learned of this Jiralhanae cease fire?" Vadumee questioned.

"Nothing. Do to my companions I was unable to investigate them further. However, my primary mission was successful. I have Simyaldee."

"That is good news. Though not enough for the council. They now want to know more about the proposed Treaty with the Jiralhanae."

"Perhaps we can discuss that later, for now I must tell you… the Princess lives."

"What?" Vadumee froze. His procession of Spec Ops stopped short behind as to not walk him over. He turned to them and waved them ahead. "Proceed to active stations. Dismissed." The Spec Ops, non Mirratord, obeyed and walked away, leaving Balmaedee and Vadumee to talk. "They said she was dead."

"There is a traitor in the midst of the council, brother. Not surprisingly, we were told wrong."

"But the body that was found…"

"It was her mother."

"Then the council is not aware of the truth." Vadumee folded his arms in thought. "Is Simyaldee aware of Vasmeola's past?"

"Yes, but he is not aware of the traitor we have been monitoring in the council. The Princess is also not aware that someone wants her dead."

"It is best that it remain that way for now. No one is aware of her being here, so we shall keep this amongst us. So long as the council is unaware of her presence, she is safe."

Balmaedee looked to Vadumee, "Do you still believe it is Elder Misuvai?"

"There is no proof of his hatred for the house of Vas, but he is the most likely candidate."

"He is the one that released public knowledge of the Arbiter's betrayal, at the conclusion of the Parade of Watchmen. I remember as if it were yesterday. He showed the Honored Leaders the official document of the Arbiter's actions."

"But that is not proof. We need more, brother, and accusing an elder to be a traitor is not something we can execute without full knowledge of his deeds. This is very complicated matter, and the very reason why I need Simyaldee's strength."

"He will not be happy once he discovers we kept this knowledge from him." Balmaedee sighed.

"Again, we first need proof. Simyaldee will be that proof, or so I hope. For now let us go and induct Simyaldee in the Mirratord. The councilors from the _Truth and Reconciliation_ will be our witnesses. Contact M'atralee and tell him to meet us."

- - - - - - - -

Silence continued to fill the prison block, as there was very little activity with the exception of a few Unggoy cleaning crews. It was early in the morning and Vasmeola had nervously drifted off to sleep in Simyaldee's arm. They sat along side the cell wall as Vasmeola's younger brothers slept along side the exterior of the cell. Yet the youngest was unable to sleep, and ventured closer to Simyaldee.

"How did you become Mirratord?" He questioned to him.

Weary eyed and taken by the child's innocents, Simyaldee blindly replied. "I was chosen. My ancestral bloodline is pure enough, so the Council elders decided to induct me. My father was once a High Councilor, yet he was killed. I spent the majority of my youth rejecting and hating everything about the Covenant, until I met my Master. He taught me how to focus my anger and calm my mind. A lesson I should muster in this dark time."

"You love my sister?"

The question shocked Simyaldee, waking him from his half unconscious state. "Yes. But upon the Council's arrival we will be separated." The sound of footsteps echoed across the room and Simyaldee slowly stood to see who was coming. "Stay with your sister." He walked into the main hall and watched as Balmaedee, M'atralee, and what looked like the Spec Ops Commander began to walk toward him. He adjusted his eyes, rubbing away the sleep, and realized that it was indeed the Spec Ops Commander. His white armor was unmistakable.

"Get dressed." M'atralee snarled. Simyaldee sensed the seriousness in his voice. "We shall deal with the Princess later, for now we need to deal with you." Simyaldee picked up his vest and pulled it on. He looked down as Vasmeola opened her eyes. Neither of them spoke, they simply shared a short gaze. Vasmeola saw the white armored Sangheili in the hallway, and knew that something was happening.

Simyaldee turned, "I shall return as soon as I can." He walked into the hallway and followed the Mirratord.

Vasmeola was not as optimistic. "And I doubt that I will be here when you return." She softly whispered to herself.

The four warriors made their way down the hall as M'atralee whispered, "I hope you are ready for this. The First and the Second are here to induct you."

Simyaldee sighed. "This is my real induction. Yet I do not feel eager to accept it."

M'atralee chuckled. "Soon, all of your worries will be an afterthought."

They continued down the path until they entered the ship's armory. The room's lights were turned down, with only one beam of light shining in the center. As they crossed the door's threshold, Simyaldee quickly noticed the eyes of the Sangheili Elders in the distance, all standing alongside the wall and peering from the darkness. There were dozens of them. What also struck Simyaldee as odd was that Balmaedee was extremely quiet. The door to the room closed behind them and the Spec Ops Commander stepped into the center of the room.

"Elders, this day has been a long time coming, but everyone has finally been assembled. We, the future of the Sangheili race, born in the _Sixth Age of Doubt_, have come to carry on the hope of a better tomorrow for our kinsmen." Vadumee knelt before the darkness of the shrouded elders. Balmaedee, M'atralee and Simyaldee did the same.

"For too many years has our faith been tested, and our trust in the Hierarchs is bitter. However I come before you with the future leaders of your Right Hand. To ensure the safety of our kin and to protect our ways, and most importantly to uphold the Mirratord Law, I have called together the purist of the Sangheili Bloodline."

They all stood as Vadumee continued. "From the house of Mae; Ladme Balmaedee. The son of High Elder Den Tramaeda." Balmaedee stepped forward and stood at Vadumee's side; his black armor mirroring the brilliant white of the Spec Ops Commander.

"From the house of Tra; Den M'atralee. Son of High Elder S'et Metraoa." M'atralee walked to their side, his black armor radiating his pride and willingness to uphold the Mirratord Law.

"From the house of Yal, Rin Simyaldee. Son of High Elder …."

From the darkness came a shout, "Do not speak his name!" Simyaldee and the others tried to see who was speaking, but the room was creating an echo and with the darkness it made it impossible to discern who had given the shout. Another elder then spoke. "Though we meet in secret, we must be cautious. Simyaldee's father sacrificed much to protect our kin, let us not betray his grave by releasing too much information. Even in death, his honor knows no limit, so let us respect the secrecy of his name."

Vadumee looked to Simyaldee, hoping that the young inductee understood the Elder's words. "Very well, Elders." He waved Simyaldee forward. The four Mirratord Warriors stood in the center of the room and patiently waited as the Elders mumbled amongst themselves. Then one of the Elders stepped into the light. His massive helmet glowed brilliantly in the reflection and carried the weight of being an elder.

"Commander, by law of our ancestor's ways, power is given to the strong. You, who we have trusted even in your youth, were wise enough to assemble this team. Now you must prepare to extend the mantel of leadership to those worthy of the act. This is the way it was before the arrival of the Covenant, and this is the way it will be when they leave. You earned the right to keep your position by besting both Balmaedee and M'atralee, but now you must face the newest of your brethren."

The Elder turned to Simyaldee. "You have been chosen to become a ranking member of the Mirratord. To help lead our kin, protect them, and obey the High Council of Sangheili. In this act, you must earn your place amongst the ranked three; to become the Mirratord First, the Mirratord Second or the Mirratord Honor Guard. Do you accept?"

Simyaldee looked to his kin. It was Obvious that M'atralee was the Mirratord Honor Guard, the lowest rank of the three. But none of that mattered, Simyaldee realized that he was unaccustomed to the ways of the Mirratord; he was not ready to lead them.

"I thank you for this honor, but I choose to not be amongst the ranked three. If it pleases the council and the First, I will simply join the unranked Mirratord."

Vadumee stepped from the line and kicked Simyaldee in the chest, knocking the warrior backwards. "No, I do not accept that." Simyaldee slid until his head impacted the bulkhead. The protective shield from is new shield unit had vanished, completely overloaded from the impact of being kicked, and the low power warning was beeping wildly in his ears. He stood quickly, holding his chest and snarled at the First.

Balmaedee stepped between Simyaldee and Vadumee. "Commander, he is mine. That is the way of things. If he bests me, then you will have your turn."

The elder backed away and into the darkness, "So it begins." The anticipation was high for this gathering, the Commander had spoken so highly of Simyaldee that the assembled councilors were nearly feverish to see what he was capable of.

M'atralee walked over to Simyaldee and removed Simyaldee's shield unit. "You will not need this. It will do you little good. I would challenge you as well, but I have seen what you can do. I pale in comparison to your abilities. Either way, it is clear that I will no longer be considered a member of the ranked three. However, a bit of advice, lose to the Second; you do not want to fight the First." M'atralee pulled away. Simyaldee watched as he went and waited for Balmaedee to approach.

"You have been called here to fill a need, and as I told you, there is no turning back." Balmaedee let loose a ferocious roar. He leapt forward, but Simyaldee quickly avoided him. There were no cheers for this contest, no roaring crowds or feverish taunts, this was a sacred event reserved for the honorable. And although M'atralee's words made sense, fighting the strongest of the Mirratord was ill-advised, but the Sangheili's natural instincts were to fight to win.

Balmaedee spun around quickly, gripping Simyaldee with a vise like motion to his chest. Simyaldee was lifted several feet into the air yet things seemed to be moving in slow motion to his eyees. He was seeing things clearer then he thought possible. He grabbed Balmaedee's arm, tumbled out of his grip, rolled the warriors wrist and turned his shoulder out of socket. It was almost too easy.

Balmaedee did not cry out in pain, he let the dislocated shoulder be his advantage. He used the extra freedom of rotation and rolled clear; pulling his wrist free from Simyaldee's grasp.

He snarled, "Will you use those hands to defend our kin? Will you let the Prophets continue to govern our fate? Your mind is torn between your hatred and confusion. You hate, yet you wish not to fight! Mindless and stupid! What did the master teach you? Will you let his memory be forgotten in your mind?" Balmaedee had already seen that he could not beat Simyaldee, he was much stronger and faster then he was, but he had to make him understand that he was needed. It was his destiny to be here.

Balmaedee stood, popped his shoulder back into socket, and flung himself toward Simyaldee. With the grace and speed of something other worldly, Simyaldee stepped forward, drove his elbow deep into Balmaedee stomach and raised his fist into his chin. Balmaedee crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

Vadumee stood motionless in the center of the room. "Has his words swelled into your head? Do you see the purpose of your calling? Did your father die for nothing?"

Simyaldee spun and roared in protest, "Do not speak of my father as if you knew him!"

"Do you wish to carry on your father's honor? Do you wish to understand why he sacrificed himself for the safety of the council, for his kin … for you?" Vadumee walked toward Simyaldee and awaited his reply. "Speak!"

"What do you know of my father? What do you want from me?" Simyaldee protested.

"Your undying allegiance to the protection of our race!" Vadumee strongly replied. "Your father gave everything for Sangheili race, only to be assassinated for his beliefs and to protect his child. I want you to uphold your oath to obey the High Council, even in the face of the Hierarchs themselves. To do what no other group can do. And if need be, sacrifice a few lives to save billions."

Simyaldee sat in silence.

Vadumee gritted his mandibles. "Did you not watch as the Master died by Balmaedee's hands? He accepted his fate. Did you not see Elder Bro'vasleo stay behind to face the enemy, even though he was wounded? He also accepted his fate! Your father also accepted his fate! What will you accept when the time comes?"

"Enough!" Simyaldee roared. "I am but a warrior, young and foolish as I may be, but still a simple warrior. Why are you so determined to make me join you?"

An elder stepped into the light, "Because you and Vadumee are the last of the Ancient Bloodline; the oldest bloodline of our kin. Your Bloodline dates back to the ancient guardians of the Inner Sanctum, those that first walked onto the surface of our homeland and claimed it."

Vadumee looked into Simyaldee's eyes. "You did not know this history, it has been erased from all existence. You are who we want you to be. But the Prophets must never know of your lineage, we believe this is the true reason your father was murdered. His actions saved the council, but it was also an excuse to end his life. There is more to the mystery of the Prophets, but I will say this, I have seen Halo…" The room broke into a murmur as gasps escaped the elder's lungs. "It exists. The Prophets are not lying, but they are not telling us everything. We need you now more than ever. And I need you at my side. I have seen things that make me question the motives of the Prophets, but one thing is true, I am now a believer in the great journey."

Several elders emerged, "First, are you certain?"

"Can it be true?"

"What have you seen?"

"Tell us?"

Vadumee waved his hands. "In time, Elders, I will share everything. But now I must know the state of the Mirratord." He looked to Simyaldee. "What say you, brother?"

Simyaldee questioned, "What about Vasmeola? Will she be spared?" Vadumee winced as he heard her name, hoping that Simyaldee would not speak of her.

A councilor stepped forward, "The daughter of Bro'vasleo?"

"Elders, we can discuss that another time." Vadumee quickly added. The elders seemed intrigued, but did not press the matter. "What is your answer?" He turned back to Simyaldee.

Simyaldee backed away from Vadumee and looked at him questioningly. He pondered why the First choose not to reveal that Vasmeola was on the ship. "Do I still need to challenge you?"

Vadumee chuckled. "You wish to challenge the seat of the First? I believe my new apprentice, Kusovai, would be a worthier match. You are still too young and undisciplined to best me."

"Our age difference is only a few years."

Vadumee began to counter. "True. So, if you wish to try your luck…"

Simyaldee lashed out, his swing was swift, and nearly unnoticeable to the untrained eye. But his swing was pointless, and well off the mark. Before Simyaldee could recoil to make another attempt, he balled over in pain as his abdomen rumbled. His lungs violently exploded as the pressure in his chest forced all of his air outward. He crumbled to his knees and gasped. He never saw the motion or the attack that had subdued him. He looked up as Vadumee hovered over him.

"Simyaldee, do not be disappointed. I have been trained in the ancient arts of our kin, and I will train you in them as well. You will learn and possibly pass me in skill, one day. But for now, I am proud to say that I made the right choice. Welcome to the Mirratord, my new Second."

The elders had barely seen what had transpired. The moment that they had all been looking forward to passed in the blink of an eye. They all looked on curiously, pondering what to make of the sudden ending.

"Is there skill difference that vast?"

"It would seem so."

"Then why is the First pleased?"

Vadumee heard their concerns as he aided Simyaldee to his feet. "Because Elders, he easily bested my former Second, and that alone tells me he has great potential."

The elders all nodded and accepted the new Second in command of the Mirratord. They slowly began to leave the armory as the lights began to turn on to normal levels, illuminating the room fully. There were thirteen of them in total, yet not one of them was a high ranking councilor. They were all merely witnesses to the incutions.

Simyaldee watched as Balmaedee slowly staggered to his feet, assisted by M'atralee. "Are you alright, Major?"

Balmaedee nodded yes. "Your concern is not warranted. I seem to be somewhat out of practice in my hand to hand training."

M'atralee chuckled, "Or perhaps you are getting to old."

Balmaedee smirked, "I am merely ten years older then the lot of you."

"Wait, I thought you and the First trained together? Would that not mean you are nearly the same age?" Simyaldee questioned.

Vadumee interrupted. "That is a story for another time, and the Mirratord will not reveal all of its secrets so suddenly. Come, the fate of the Jiralhanae is most certainly being decided. We must prepare to meet with the _Fleet of Particular Justice_."

Simyaldee spoke softly to Vadumee, "Let me go and speak with mate first, to calm her nerves." Simyaldee continued to massage his wounded abs.

"No. We will meet with her in time. Right now our priority is the safety of the Council. When the Meeting begins we will return to speak with her, as I have many questions for her as well."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_High Charity_  
Council Chambers  
High Orbit over Outpost World  
March 23, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Outcries wailed throughout the theater sized chamber. From the bleachers at opposing sides, the Prophets and Sangheili bitterly tossed their frustrations over the situation. Yet during this heated debate, sitting at the front of the Council Chambers, Truth and Mercy watched and listened.

It was clear that the Sangheili were upset, incensed over the idea of peace with the Jiralhanae. "They attacked with no warning or provocation!" A Sangheili Elder shouted. His words carried the same sentiment as each of his fellow Elders. "They are barbaric, uncivilized, and lack any sense of Honor. How can we talk peace with them?"

A Prophet spoke up from the opposing side, "The Sangheili of today was not as refined when we first met you. You were no better when we first introduced you to the Covenant."

"Blasphemy!" Shouted an angry elder. Roars of protest and insults ensued as Truth slowly moved toward the edge of his floating throne. The floating slowly bobbed forward, toward the edge of the stage overlooking the Council Chambers.

He raised his hand to address the crowd, and the dispute calmed. "We have all come with a dark past. The visions of the Forerunners captured our hearts and made the path easy for us all to unite. The Jiralhanae are no different. However, I do agree that there is no easy way to fully bring them into the Covenant outright."

Mercy sat up sharply, confused as to what his ears were hearing. This was not what they had planed. "Brother Mercy, might I speak …"

Truth continued. "We shall embrace the Jiralhanae. That is the will of the Gods. However, this act against the Sangheili can not … shall not go ignored. If it pleases this council, as it does my own heart, we shall give the Jiralhanae this world in good faith, however, we shall also keep them separate from our dealings until the time of their need is required. Perhaps in time this feud and bitterness will pass, and the Covenant can be made whole. A found teaching of the Gods is patience."

Mercy stared at Truth with confusion. What had Truth done? Once again he had twisted their ideas and not informed him of any change. The door the Council Chamber parted, and Mercy looked up, cutting his thoughts short.

"Enter." Truth stated. Through the door walked six massive beasts. And leading them was the ageing Chieftain, Tartarus.

Truth extended his palm to them. "On behalf of the Covenant, we welcome you to the Council Chambers."

Tartarus's eye twitched as he snarled. "Seeing your armada appear before my eyes was quite the sight. You Prophets have made a good fight, and we can not hope to best you. I, Tartarus, unified Chieftain of the Jiralhanae… surrender to the will of the Covenant." He knelt forward planting his fist into the metal deck and bowed his head. The five Brutes at his side did the same. "We will follow your Gods, and your teachings."

The Sangheili honor guards at Mercy and Truth's side held their place yet were uncomfortable at the sight of the beasts. Truth sensed their anxiousness. "Honor Guards, step back. Tartarus, come forward." To the shock of the Council and the honor guards, Truth floated toward Tartarus as the Brute stood. "The Sangheili, our trusted counterparts, are enraged at the acts committed upon this world, and we have agreed that accepting you fully into our fold would be unwise at this time. However, as a sign of our union, I would ask that you and your kin take up a special role. There are several territories within your borders that we have not yet charted in our quest for Forerunner Artifacts. Show the Covenant your allegiance by finding what you can and returning it to us. In time, we will embrace you fully, but for now we ask that you be our scouts."

Tartarus was confused about these words. His previous conversations with Truth said nothing of this. Though confused about the change in plan, he looked to the Prophet and felt that he could trust him; for now.

Tartarus replied. "It would be an honor. Anything to show our worth to the Covenant." The crowd of Sangheili councilors slowly began to protest, but Truth raised his hands.

"The Hierarchs have spoken. And this is how it shall be. Our word is law, and in time the might of the Covenant will be made whole."

"But Holy Truth, their hands are not clean. How can we let them retrieve the sacred artifacts?" A Sangheili elder questioned.

"We will teach them all that they need." Truth extended his hand and placed it upon Tartarus's forehead. "And this evening, his Holiness Mercy shall bless there hands in the temple of the Forerunner. Now we welcome you, the Jiralhanae, to the Covenant."

After nearly another hour of talks and debates the Council adjourned. Truth and Mercy began to descend down the elevator which would lead them to the Sanctum of the Hierarchs. They had dismissed the honor guards so that they could speak in private.

"What have you done?" Mercy questioned.

"Assured the future, without destroying the present."

"This is not what we planned. The Grand Design calls for…"

"Unlike the Great Journey, the Grand Design is not perfect. With the Migration complete, we can now see things more clearly. We have yet to locate Halo, we have no idea of the Ark's location, and this all means that the Great Journey is out of reach until we have what we need. If the Sangheili are untrusting of the Jiralhanae then the Armada will be divided, making our search for artifacts difficult. I have given the Jiralhanae a ground in which to stand on, and they will in time find more of our missing history. With each piece they find, they will become more accepted by the Sangheili."

Mercy huffed. "But the Grand Design required the use of their power. We have been manipulating things, preparing for the day that we introduce the Jiralhanae to the Covenant, and now you make us wait? Why did you not discuss this with me?"

"Forgive me brother. It was a last minute decision. Should I have pulled you to the side in front of the Council and rethought our strategy? The Sangheili are not blind, and nor are they fools. They would question such secrecy. For now, this is a better out come. And for now… we wait to see what comes of it."

- - - - - - - -

Several hours after meeting with the Supreme Commander of the _Fleet of Particular Justice_, Vadumee, Balmaedee and Simyaldee wandered into the cell room, and approached the cell that Vasmeola had once occupied. The room was empty. Vadumee looked to his new Second with a quiet shock. All the while his mind raced with questions.

"What has happened? Where is she?" Simyaldee pleaded as he looked around the room. He was hoped to see them hiding in a corner of the cell, or even a letter detailing their movement. "Where is the guard? He should know something."

Balmaedee walked to the cell block terminal and scanned the data logs. "I doubt the guard is aware of their movement. According to the log, no one has been in this room."

"Not possible!" Simyaldee shouted in frustration. "The guard was here, and we watched him enter the data."

Balmaedee glared at him sternly. "Calm your emotions." He then approached Vadumee. "Do you believe the council was told of her presence?"

Vadumee turned and began to walk out of the cell. "Let us go and find out."

**To Be Continued**


	11. First Deed of the Mirratord

**Section 11: The First Deed of the Mirratord**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_High Charity_  
Civilian Sector  
High Orbit over Outpost World  
March 28, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Five days have passed since Vasmeola and her family vanished. Five days of active searching by the leaders of the Mirratord, only to be faced with dead ends on every good lead they uncovered. From the Council Chambers of _High Charity_, to the boiling furnaces of Ashanti's Shipyards on_ Fatrioni_; they found nothing. Vadumee, Balmaedee and Simyaldee had taxed nearly every source they could, short of asking the elder councilors directly. By now, Simyaldee's hopes of finding his mate alive were beginning to wane.

"What other options do we have left?" Balmaedee questioned as he glanced over his findings. The data pad scrolled with Sangheili symbols; names, locations, hideouts and even numerous heretic bases' of operations.

"We must turn to the council once again!" Simyaldee aggressively stated.

"If the council is unaware of their location, then the council is unaware." Vadumee quickly stated. He was leaning back against a wall in the corner of the hallway, resting with his arms folded tightly. He had not slept at all in the past five days, which was nothing new to a warrior, but the exhaustion was beginning to take hold of him. "They were taken before we told the council…"

"But I spoke of them at my induction!" Simyaldee countered. "Perhaps one of them was the culprit."

Vadumee attempted to calm Simyaldee. "Be cautious, brother. Accusing an elder is not an easy task. Remember, our duty is to protect the High Council, and we must never forget that. If we are to approach an Elder, there is no telling what seeds we may lay."

The trio stood silent for a moment, and each sighed heavily as they lowered their heads. The leaders of the most powerful and secretive organization in the Sangheili forces were lost on what to do next. Yet Balmaedee had one last revelation.

"First, there is still one last option. The one you have been neglecting to follow."

Vadumee glared at Balmaedee for speaking of it around Simyaldee, but he held his peace.

Naturally, Simyaldee responded to this. "What? What do you mean? First, is there another stone yet unturned?"

Vadumee stepped forward and lowered his head in thought. "I have hesitated to follow this lead, as it could stir up a large circle of mistrust within the High Council. Balmaedee is well aware of that."

"As the Second in command, I need to be aware of everything going on in your head!" Simyaldee snarled.

Vadumee turned to Balmaedee and chuckled. "Now he claims his title." He stepped closer to Simyaldee. "As I told you, there are many secrets, and the Mirratord will not reveal all of its secrets so suddenly. In time you will know everything, and it will be I that will need to seek your aid."

"No matter." Simyaldee countered. "What is it that you have neglected to share?"

"It concerns Elder Misuvai." Vadumee softly stated.

"Elder Misuvai? His honorific is that of a novice. How is that possible?"

Balmaedee spoke, "He was born of a powerful family, at the very end of the Unggoy uprising. Due to the Arbiters actions in this war, several Sangheili Elders were removed from their rank in the Council. Several seats in the council needed to be filled, and he was 'selected' to fill the void. He had never seen combat, nor did he successfully complete his years at the Academy."

"He was a drop out that happened to be in the right family, at the right time." Vadumee added.

Balmaedee continued. "Thus his honorific, vai: without battle."

"But to the point," Vadumee cut in. "it has been suspected for several years that he was responsible for the fall of the House of Vas. That goes with little doubt, but many believe he had an ulterior motive."

"Elder Misuvai is the same elder that Vasmeola spoke of?"

"The same." Balmaedee answered, he thumbed his data pad and passed it to Simyaldee. "Here is the relative data."

"As you can see, he bore witness that the previous Arbiter was a traitor. But even this did not officially remove Elder Bro'vasleo from the council. For his own safety, the council let him believe this, this way…"

"Vasmeola would be rejected from the Academy." Simyaldee quickly stated, cutting Vadumee short. "Then his actions were for the council's benefit as well. His deed prevented her from entering the Academy and thusly keeping her from the Prophets. I understand now. His actions have always been well timed."

Balmaedee smirked. "You see, First, even he understands it. Misuvai's actions have been massive blows to the Council. Even his taking of the high council seat seemed too good to be true."

"But what you do not see is the 'why'." Vadumee countered. "As I said, he is the most likely subject, but 'why' would he do it? He is a councilor, and he has honor and power despite his honorific."

Simyaldee continued to read the backlog of data on Misuvai and his actions toward the House of Vas. "Wait! It says that Misuvai was once a good friend to Elder Bro'vasleo, they attended the same Academy on Dorenth, before Misuvai dropped out. They maintained their friendship throughout their council days. He also reported that he visited Bro'vasleo's home on numerous occasions, and was so saddened by the news of their disappearance that he went to their home to find out what happened. It was he that reported Vasmeola's death, in a shallow grave on the Vas family's property."

"What?" Balmaedee suddenly gripped the pad. "Did I miss this?"

Simyaldee questioned, "I do not understand. Why was Vasmeola reported as being dead? It was her mother who was slain."

"If he inspected the body himself, then this is the evidence we need." Vadumee thumbed his lower mandibles. "He clearly lied on the report."

"First! We have him!" Balmaedee smirked. "This is enough information to at least question him."

"Yes. We must know why he lied to the council." Vadumee turned to his side and faced the empty hallway. "M'atralee." Suddenly, a thin wisp of lines warped the visual spectrum and a massive shape of shifting light appeared. Almost invisible to the naked eye, the form took shape, light shifted around it, its image became more solid, and soon the black armor of an elite appeared.

M'atralee knelt before the First. "Your orders?"

Vadumee stepped forward. "Send word to the council. We must speak with Elder Misuvai."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_High Charity_  
Sanctum of the Hierarchs  
High Orbit over Outpost World  
March 28, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

"Ah, brother Regret, your return is most welcome!" Mercy mumbled with outstretched arms. Regret floated across the dimly lit and massive room toward Mercy, yet his face showed his displeasure.

"I return with hopes to see the power of the Jiralhanae, yet my reports tell me of something different. Why were the Jiralhanae sent away? What contempt is this?"

Mercy waved his hands in a calming tone. "Once again, brother Truth needed to alternate our plans."

"Our plans?" Regret fumed. "Our plans involved the power of the Jiralhanae, not these bungling reptiles. The Sangheili's time has past. Is Truth not looking to the future? What about the Grand Design? "

"I will let Truth explain when he returns from his meeting with the Jiralhanae Chieftain, but for now… were you successful in destroying the map room?"

"Yes! Such a foolish question. I would not have returned if it had not been done. Our systems are in place and our top scientists are studying the data. Everything that once existed inside the Forerunner map room, is now stored in our database."

"Excellent. And no one questioned its destruction?"

Regret rolled his eyes, "You still doubt me? If you must know, an honor guard was curious about its destruction. He was my chief bodyguard. But he will not trouble us."

"What makes you so sure?" Mercy frowned, worriedly.

"Dead warriors do not speak, brother." Regret wickedly smiled. He was displeased about the constant interrogation; as if Mercy doubted his success.

"Good. We can not have doubt floating through the warrior ranks."

Regret floated to the central terminal and gazed at it mysteriously. "Now tell me, in your own words, why do you think Truth told the Jiralhanae to leave?"

"My view on the subject… it was for the common good. The Sangheili's thirst for the Jiralhanae's blood. They hate each other, still. Even after all these centuries, the Sangheili and Jiralhanae have a natural hatred of each other. They were on the verge of lynching the Unified Chieftain as he knelt before Truth."

"I see. So not even the destruction of the galaxy could squelch their hatred for one another? Perhaps their blood is too different to ever work together in peace. Their must be a way."

"If the Forerunners could not make them work together in peace, I highly doubt we will be successful."

The door to the Sanctum parted and in floated truth. He waved off his guards and looked to his two brothers. "I happened to overhear your last statement, Mercy, and  
I must disagree. What these two natural enemies need is a common foe. But for now, we will wait until that moment arrives." Truth floated closer to Regret and bowed his long serpent like neck respectfully. "It has been a while brother. How is your health?"

"My health is fine, but it is my heart that troubles me." Regret sorrowfully replied. "I so dreamed to see the mighty Jiralhanae in action once more. Now they are merely reduced to scouts and tomb raiders. The first battle under our control, and I missed it."

"It could not be helped. Letting the Jiralhanae stay active in the Covenant would have angered the Sangheili into a possible internal dispute. They need time to heal and forget the actions on the Outpost World. I have sent word to the expeditionary force, and gave them the first star marker. Soon, we will have all three markers and we will find Halo. And once we find Halo, we will unite the Sangheili and Jiralhanae."

"I see." Mercy chuckled. "The holy relic will surely establish unity."

"Ah." Regret chimed in. "So we delay the Grand Design until we find Halo."

"Yes." Truth floated toward the terminal. "With Halo found we will be one step closer to the Ark's location and the Great Journey. And when we find the Ark, we will no doubt find the cursed Reclaimers; the sole reason that we created this Covenant. The Sangheili and Jiralhanae will come together to fight them while we complete the Grand Design."

"Yes. The Reclaimers." Regret thumbed his stubble as he thought back on his many studies of the Reclaimers. Their legend filled his mind once again, but he dared not speak of them knowing that Truth and Regret detested them greatly. Regret dreamed of facing them, testing the Reclaimers and seeing what they were truly capable of. His studies showed tactfulness, bravery and an unmatched desire to win. Instead of hating the Reclaimers, he learned from them. He studied their recorded victories from the Forerunner Era, their leadership style and tactics. He would be ready to destroy them if they dared show their face.

"The Jiralhanae have accepted our change in plans." Truth stated, forcing Regret to refocus. "The Unified Chieftain, Tartarus, believes this to be the better decision, though he was surprised at how quickly the plan changed. I made him understand that the Sangheili are not fully prepared to accept him. He was willing to attack them, and wear down their aggression, but I explained that such a method was unjust. We are to be allies, but the Sangheili will need to learn to accept them over time."

"In your letter you stated that Tartarus was growing old, will he live long enough to fulfill the Grand Design?" Regret questioned.

"No. The Jiralhanae do not live nearly as long as the Sangheili, but his first born child will take his name and swear his life to us. Once he claims the title of Chieftain from his father, we will have another loyal leader in our grasp." Truth floated closer to his two kinsmen and then whispered. "Now, tell me, what news do you have of the Sangheili High Council?"

"Yes." Mercy smiled. "As we had feared, the bloodline of Elder Barremee may still exist. My spies have acquired a young female, the very female we believed to be directly connected to Barremee's seed."

Truth pondered the words as he looked to the floor. "I thought we ordered his descendants killed?"

"We did, yet one must have survived. A different branch of his family, no doubt, but with nearly the same pure bloodline." Mercy quickly replied.

Truth lifted his head. "We must not take any chances of the Gene growing out of control. Kill her and any member of her family. Barremee may be protected because of his status as the Sangheili High Elder, but we can at least stop his young from spreading."

Regret chuckled softly, catching the gaze of both Truth and Mercy. He looked to his two elder kinsmen and smiled. "You fear the legacy left behind by the Forerunners, yet here we are following in their footsteps. Are we any different then they were?"

Mercy frowned, "And you do not understand the power these creatures could hold over us if we leave them unchecked."

"Still," Regret added. "even if we kill off all of Barremee's descendants, nature will find a way to continue the gene. Artificial or not… the Sangheili gene will reappear. That is why we should kill them now and be done with it. Callback the Jiralhanae and let us cleanse the Sangheili for good."

"And such black-and-white ideals will be the end of us all, brother." Truth sighed. "Continue to think that way, and you will never see the Great Journey."

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_Wing of the Gods_  
Sangheili Capital ship within the _fleet of Divine Light_  
High Orbit over Outpost World  
March 29, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

The phantom descended to the grey hull of the landing deck, merely seconds after phasing through the protective shield. The hum of the phantom's engine began to fade as the small transport ship's engines readjusted to the _Wing of the Gods'_ internal gravity array. But instead of landing on the deck the phantom stopped several feet from the deck. Its belly parted as a focused beam of purple light flashed to the deck, carrying four Sangheili Spec Ops officers.

The gravity lift lowered their massively strong forms to the deck and they looked around curiously, threatening any Grunts or Jackals that came near. They stepped clear of the lift and formed a defensive circle around the beam of light. Then another three warriors descended to the deck. This time only two of them wore the black armor of the Spec Ops, the other warrior dawned the white armor of the Spec Ops Commander.

"The deck is clear, Commander." One of the spec ops commented.

"Excellent. Take team Beta to the command deck and advise the Ship Master of our presence. Tell him of our arrival and that under no circumstances should anyone come to the Councilman's chamber, no matter what he hears." The warrior returned a sharp and nearly perfect bow before he waved for his three man unit to follow him. The four lead Spec Ops quickly made their way off the deck.

Ballmaedee stood at the Commander's side, along with M'atralee. "He will not be pleased to see us. Even with a written document with the Council consent, he will dispute our presence."

"We could not notify him of our arrival, that would only give him a chance to hide anything… incriminating." The commander replied. "This signed document will have to do. Besides, I am not concerned with his reaction to our presence; it is his actions after I leave that will reveal the most." The commander waved for M'atralee to lead the way and they began the long trip to Elder Misuvai's chamber.

The _Wing of the Gods_ was a standard capital cruiser with a full compliment of crew; Grunts, Jackals, Engineers, Hunters, and its Elite command. But within every fleet of the Armada it was mandatory for a Prophet and Sangheili Councilor to be present on a minimum of four ships. This helped to maintain discipline and a watchful eye for the Council. Luckily, the Prophet stationed on ship had not returned, making it easier for the Spec Ops to quietly take control via the High Council's orders. With the Prophet on board, things would not have gone so smoothly.

As expected the councilman's deck was quiet and only a few battle hardened Vets, dawning the red armor of the Elite Major, stood at opposing ends of the hallway. As the Commander and his entourage made their way past them, they nodded with respect. Commander Vadumee's rank made him nearly as important at the Supreme Commander of the Fleet. He softly nodded a reply and stopped at the elder's door.

One of the veteran guards, dawning his polished red armor, stepped forward. "Sir, I must ask if the Elder is expecting you. He requested not to be disturbed."

Commander Vadumee spun on heel toward the warrior and glared into his eyes. "I understand it is your duty to question anyone that approaches this door, but I will make this clear. Until further notice I am herby in command of this ship. You will take your orders from me and no one else." M'atralee stepped forward, holding a data pad with the signature and Royal stamp of the High Council. "That is all you need to know. Take your team and secure this foyer. No one comes down this hall, no matter what you hear. If I do not summon you, you do not come back to this door. Understood?"

"Perfectly!" The warrior sternly replied. He nodded and began to dispatch his guards to the end of the corridor.

"M'atralee, open this door." Vadumee clasped his hands behind his back as M'atralee slipped his command override sequence into the door controls. The double door hissed and partially opened. A loud metal ping echoed from the door and it halted. A six inch gap appeared between the double doors and Vadumee grumbled softly in his chest. "Restraint bar."

Balmaedee also huffed. "Yes. It would seem he really does want his privacy."

Vadumee placed his head to the door and peeped inside, knowing that he could not fit through the gap, but he could not see anyone inside. "Elder Misuvai! This is Commander Vadumee of the Special Operations! You have ten seconds to remove this restraint bar from the door before I force it open!"

Vadumee sat back and looked to Balmaedee. "You think that will get his attention?"

"If he is hiding something, he is probably loosing control of his bowls right now." The trio chuckled softly.

A shout came back from inside the room. "Just a moment! What is the meaning of this? I said no visitors!"

"Five seconds, elder!" Vadumee replied. He gripped a small cylinder shaped device from his hip, shaped almost identical to the Energy Sword hilt, yet it was a few inches smaller. He palmed it in his left hand and stepped closer to the door access panel.

"I need a minute, you caught me in the bath!" Came the reply.

Balmaedee chuckled. "He thinks we can not get in."

M'atralee replied. "Typically no. Not even a plasma flame could pierce this door. However, if you know where the restraint bolt is located ..."

"Times up!" Vadumee squeezed the tiny hilt in his hand and a small blade extended down his forearm. The blade curled much like a standard energy sword, yet there was only one blade. He spun the hilt, aiming the blade toward the access panel, and stabbed into the wall unit. The blade sparked as it struck the bulkhead, and then melted its way into the wall. He forced it deeper and suddenly the doors fully parted. Vadumee powered of the single blade and connected it to his belt. M'atralee and Balmaedee sprinted into the room and Vadumee slowly followed.

"This is absurd!" Misuvai screamed as the two warriors streaked toward him. They each scanned the room, tossing furniture and began pulling down paintings. "I am an Elder of the High Council! I will have your heads for this… this, intrusion!"

Commander Vadumee had long ago lost his respect for Misuvai, and thusly could only muster one response for an elder he did not revere. "Shut up." He tossed the data pad at the elder and slowly stalked the room, looking for anything out of place.

Misuvai read the data loosely and screamed, "Under what grounds would this…"

"Listen to me, elder!" Vadumee snarled. "You know who we are and why we are here! If we find anything that links you to the crime we will literally have your head."

Misuvai stood in protest, showing no fear to the young warrior before him. "Crime? The Mirratord can not act without evidence! And if you are here then you must think that I am connected to something. But what, I wonder." Misuvai paced around the room. "Could it be Heretic delegation? Perhaps, but every councilman leads a small band of Heretics or known separatists cells. No, you are not here for that. Perhaps it is something with the Jiralhanae. No, I doubt that. None of our leads into this mystery have gathered any merit. What could it possibly be?" The elder thumbed his lower mandible as he looked to Vadumee. "A murder perhaps. Recent cases for the Mirratord include the kidnapping of the Master, the death of our foremost hero, and the evacuation of the outpost world. But what would make you come to me in this hunt? What have I done in the past that would make me a suspect… ah… yes; my announcement at the last Parade of the Watchmen!"

Balmaedee turned and looked at him awkwardly. "If you tell us everything, we will spare your life. We will remove your honor, but you will have your life."

Misuvai smirked, "By process of elimination, I assume this is about my report on the death of the House of Vas's daughter. What was wrong with the report?"

"Come now elder, do not play me for a fool." Vadumee barked. "You know we have been watching you closely. You falsified the report. The body you found was in fact the…"

"The Queen of the House of Vas." Misuvai cut in. "Their family has always been close to me. How could I report that Bro'vasleo killed his mate to protect his daughter?" Everyone froze. "The death of a child is not uncommon in the Sangheili. Unruly offspring are killed often; it is not a crime to slay your child if it is necessary. But to kill ones mate, and the eldest female of the house, is a crime punishable by death. Bro'vasleo was my friend and I will not apologize for what I have done. Beside, the House of Vas is one of the most guarded families in all the Sangheili race. Is it not better to say that it was the daughter he killed and not the Queen?"

Vadumee and Balmaedee watched as Misuvai sat upon his chair. "I acted when I needed to. Is this not what we have taught the Mirratord to do? Even we elders have our secrets, some are much darker then this. But we will never know the truth, will we? Bro'vasleo and his family stayed behind on the outpost world, never to be seen again."

M'atralee suddenly shouted, "Found it!" Misuvai raised his head to see what the young warrior meant.

Vadumee's eyes never left Misuvai. "Save your lies, elder."

M'atralee hefted a small portion of a crumbled crystal. "It is small, but with time I can retrieve some of its data." He then looked to the elder. "You smashed the data pad, but you must always be sure that the internal data crystal is also destroyed. Commander, I will need to get this to our data terminal."

"Very well." Vadumee said. "We have you now, elder. It is only a matter of time. You are hereby under arrest and confined to your chambers."

"I can tell you what was on that data crystal. It was merely shipment orders and Mirratord posting confirmations for the Armada. That was the data you transferred to the high council several days ago!"

"We shall see." Vadumee smirked. The trio exited the room as the elder's door slowly squeaked closed because of the damage.

M'atralee thumbed the crumbled data crystal in his hand and slowly ground it into a powder. "You think he bought it?"

"Time well till. It is up to the Second now."

- - - - - - - -

Elder Misuvai huffed to himself as he lowered his head. He paced around the room in thought, rubbing the sweat that had suddenly beaded upon his brow. "That crystal has nothing on it. I am not so stupid to bring things back to my chamber. But still, Commander Vadumee is a fearful young warrior. Damn!" He strode to his com station and keyed in an encrypted line. He then pulled a small personal communicator out of his pocket and piggybacked the frequency. On the com station he contacted the command deck and at the same time he contacted a strange frequency through his personal com.

"Ship master, why did you not inform me that the Commander was coming?" He roared.

"_Elder, I was not made aware until a few moments ago. Forgive me, but I was under orders not to notify you."_

Misuvai frustratingly killed the communication but that wasn't the goal of his transmission. It was a simple cover up for his real contact via the other line. "Your holiness …"

"_Is this channel secure?"_

"Yes your eminence."

"_What is it? You were not to report until tomorrow."_

"The Commander is on to me. He just left. He suspects something, but right now they are baiting me. You must transfer me from this ship."

"_And could it be possible that they bugged your quarters?"_

"My transmission is encrypted, my own design, it would notify me of any odd frequencies other than my own."

"_In order to receive something, you must give something. What have you to offer me? I already have the female."_

"Your eminence, the house of Vas was our biggest secret, there is nothing more."

"_Yet there you are, sitting in your quarters, locked away. Surely there is something about the council you can share."_

Misuvai wiped his brow, and exhaled heavily. "There is more… the biggest of our secrets; a group that works under the High Council directly."

"_You have my attention. Speak._"

"The Mirratord. Retrieve me from this ship, and I will tell you what I know."

There was a short pause. _"Consider it done. I will send orders for you to be stationed aboard High Charity. Your cover will be the debriefing of the Outpost World Evacuation."_

"Thank you your eminence. Thank you." The channel closed and Misuvai exhaled. The door beeped and Misuvai answered the call. "Yes?"

"_Sir, do you need anything? We were told that you are to be held in your quarters till further notice."_ The Vet guards had returned to guard his door.

"I am fine." He closed the line and stood from his seat. He motioned for his desk and paused. "What have I done?"

As he sulked, an invisible force gripped his mouth and neck with unbelievable strength. He struggled against the powerful grip, fought with all his might, yet could not free himself from the ferocious strength of the invisible assailant.

"Redeem yourself before you die. Where are they?"

Misuvai calmed himself and glared into the ceiling. "I do not know. I was told to put them into cargo crate and leave them at the dock on _High Charity_. They were picked up with a shipment of supplies."

"Where was the shipment bound? What form of container where they in?"

"It was unmarked partials; random shipments throughout the Armada! Forgive me… they could be anywhere." Misuvai whimpered softly to himself.

A low grumble escaped the warrior's voice. "I will let you live, but you can only regain your honor by finding out where the Vas family has been taken. No need to try and contact me, I will find you. Tell no one that I was here."

The warriors grip released, and Misuvai turned to see who it was. Clearly the warrior was a Mirratord, and cloaked. "Let me see you!" But there was no answer. For five minutes Misuvai looked throughout the room, but did not see a hint of his active camouflage silhouette. The warrior was good. It was not the Commander or his Second, Balmaedee. Perhaps it was another skilled warrior. Misuvai backed away and crawled into a corner of his room, terrified, and for nearly two hours that is where he stayed.

"_Elder, your transport has arrived. May we enter?"_ Came a call from the bodyguard outside the doorway.

Musvai nervously replied, "yes." The door parted and several Spec Ops and the Veteran Major walked in.

"Sir, is everything okay? You seem pale." The vet questioned.

"Mind your own, warrior. Just get me out of here."

"We shall take it from here, sir." Stated a low ranking Spec Ops. They exited the room, leaving the red armored veteran and his team. "Do not fret, Elder. We are Mirratord, and you are protected." Misuvai stopped in his tracks, terrified. It was a Mirratord warrior that had threatened his life only a few hours ago, and now they were protecting him? He was perplexed, but it was their duty to protect the High Council at all times. Even in such random situations where they wanted information from him, the Mirratord were duty bound to guard him during transport.

After a few moments, Misuvai exited a Phantom and sighed heavily as he took his first step onto the platform of _High Charity_, relieved and thankful to be away from the Spec Ops Commander and his watchful eye. The Mirratord guards were not instructed to follow him beyond the transport shuttle. He looked around to see that a group of Prophets had gathered and were approaching him.

As they approached one of them spoke, "We are with the Outpost evacuation committee. Please follow us. We have numerous questions for you."

Inside the Sanctum of the Hierarchs Misuvai bowed respectfully to Mercy as he floated toward him. "Your holiness."

Mercy slapped him quickly, dropping Misuvai to his knees. "You do realize that you have brought a lot of questions to our circle? Many will question your sudden removal from the _Fleet of Divine light_."

Misuvai held the side of his face; he had forgotten how much their frail and boney fingers could sting. "Forgive me. I feared that they would question me."

"Fear?" Mercy questioned with a laugh. "How much does the Commander know?"

"Nothing about your connection to this."

"How much did you tell them?"

"I spoke nothing, your holiness."

"How long have I nurtured you, protected you? How much have I given you, made you powerful within the Sangheili?"

"I owe everything to you. It just, hurts, to think that they look at me as if I were a traitor."

"You are not the traitor, my child. They are."

Misuvai smiled softly at those words, and then remember the warrior's threat. "One of them threatened me, and told me to find out about the girl and her family. I say good riddance to the House of Vas. It is their own fault for holding such a secret from the Hierarchs."

"Indeed." Mercy stated. "I will have you protected at all times. Do not fear, you are safe in my care. You have done more then I could have asked in the past, and now I will live up to my end as your shinning light. However, what is this Mirratord you spoke of."

"Ah, merely a secret group of Bodyguards for the council." Misuvai held back some info, knowing that such information would be valuable in the future. "They are skilled, and strong. You should be cautious of them. The council will never admit to their existence."

"And who is the leader of this group?"

Misuvai weighed his options and began to speak, yet he suddenly felt a strong grip on his forearm, as if someone was holding him. He looked to his left and he could clearly see the distortion in the light; a silhouette of a camouflaged Elite. He began to panic, yet maintained his calm. The warrior had been with him the whole time. Even now, in the heart of the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, he stood at his side. This warrior was indeed a Mirratord, at the very heart of its meaning. He would surely kill him before he spoke a name. But surely the Hierarchs would save him, wouldn't they? All he needed to do was reveal that he was not alone and the room would be flooded with Honor Guards. Yet this warrior did not fear death, that was the Mirratord way. He would uphold the Mirratord Law and sacrifice his own life if necessary.

"Well? Give me names." Mercy questioned again.

"I do not know them, but I could find out in time. Only the highest of the council know them."

Mercy sighed. "Very well. But do not make me wait for long. As for the house of Vas, you have no need to fear them any longer. You have done us a great service in bringing them to us. As we thought, they are the ones that attempted to overthrow the Sangheili Council and spew hatred of the Covenant. They killed your ancestors for this reason and made your family outcasts. Though you were with wealth, you had no honor. Your family will once again restore their lost honor."

"By befriending them, I brought them down. Soon, my family honor will be reinstated and no longer will I be stuck with the honorific." He knew that the Mirratord warrior was still in the room somewhere, but he didn't care. This was his justice. Misuvai felt redemption knowing that his family would once again receive power.

"Yes. If you say so. You may go now. I will call for you when you are needed."

"May I ask what has been done to them?" Misuvai wasn't asking for the warrior's knowledge, he himself wanted to know so that he could hold on to that knowledge for his own inner peace.

Mercy turned and floated back to his personal chambers, "Like the others you assisted us in finding, they are dead. The slave runners will take them away from the armada and dispose of their bodies."

Misuvai exited the Sanctum doors as they closed behind him. The row of Honor Guards watched as he walked down the path toward the gravity lift. A sense of peace washed over him, knowing that he had helped rid the Covenant of those who would eventually betray it, and destroyed his family name.

He stopped at the edge of he gravity lift as a whisper filled his ears.

"She was my mate." The warrior stated.

"She was a traitor. And by the Mirratord Law in which you follow, I carried out my action. Not only that but her family smudged my family name years ago."

"They lied to you, just as they always have."

"Tell me your name."

"Simyaldee."

Misuvai looked up sharply, the name echoed in his head like a freshly sprung tuning fork. "You are the child from the House of Yal?" But there came no reply. "So be my fate. You are merely another child that will destroy the perfection that is The Covenant."

Misuvai stepped into the gravity lift and descended into its depths, and as he arrived on the lower platform his body fell forward and his head tumbled to the deck moments later. Several Jackals and Grunts were startled at the site as they sounded the distract alarm. His murderer, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Slip space  
_Ship_: Unknown  
Destination: Unknown  
March 29, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Vasmeola opened her eyes and looked into the face of a Prophet. The creature smirked at her innocently. She attempted to move her arms, yet could not. She was held down by some form of restraint. She moved her head but then found that it was also held in place.

"Ah you are awake." The prophet stated.

"Where am I?" She groggily stated.

"The question is not where are you, but rather where are you going?"

"Where are you taking me?" Vasmeola tearfully stated.

The prophet smiled. "To a world far, far away."

_**To be concluded ...**_


	12. The Beginning of Unity

**Section 12:** **The Beginning of Unity**

"The Age of Reclamation"  
Slip space  
_Ship_: Unknown  
Destination: Unknown  
March 29, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

Vasmeola, lying flat upon her back and bound, could only see the ceiling of her captors' ship. The various patterns of the ceiling slowly slipped over her eyes in a repeating pattern, she was being moved. There were voices beyond her eyesight, more Prophets talking.

"Are we certain she is the last one?"

"Yes, you fool. Regret made it clear that she would be the last." Vasmeola could easily tell that they were talking about her, she only wished she could see where she was. She continued to listen as she gazed at the scrolling ceiling.

"But how is he sure? We have been looking for months, and only now have we found her because Mercy ordered her execution. There could be more of them out there."

"Do not ask stupid questions. We have her and that is all that is important. For now we can get out of this dusty crack of the Universe and go to the safety of our Ice Ring."

Vasmeola noticed a lull in the conversation and spoke up. "Where are my brothers?"

A prophet leaned into her view. "Your bloodline no longer supports the male gene. Only you females are important. We left them with the slave traders. Do not worry, they will not be harmed. Unlike Mercy and Truth, Regret is… more understanding of the Sangheili's importance. He plays along with the Hierarchs wishes, but I can assure you, he values the Sangheili much more than those stupid ape creatures."

"Jiralhanae." Commented the other Prophet from out of view.

"Shut up! Do not correct me in front of our prey. Anyway, are you hungry my dear, thirsty?"

"No! Release me!"

"We can give you anything you wish my dear, yet we can not set you free… at least not yet." He replied. "It is a long journey to our destination. We will need to wake you from Cryo-Gen sleep at least six times. It is easier if you have food in your stomach."

"Cryo-Gen sleep?" Vasmeola questioned.

As if ignoring her statement, "Ah, here we are. Your home for the next four years." Vasmeola's watched as the ceiling stopped, and slowly her movement rotated. She was being arced forward and she could finally see. She was inside the main deck of a gigantic ship, and from her location she was looking over a vast canyon of decks. Small two seat ships zipped past her along the vast emptiness between the two sides of the ship. She focused on the far side and saw that there were thousands of other Sangheili talking amongst themselves inside their Cryo-tubes.

Vasmeola was jolted backwards and freed from her harness. The glass door of the Cryo-tube closed and sealed her inside. For a something designed to place one in cold sleep, it was fairly large. Vasmeola could stand and walk around on its soft padded floor. It was even serviced with a full functioning waste unit. None the less, she knew a jail cell when she saw it. She stepped forward and placed her hands upon the glass, and she could now see to her left and right; the glass door bubbled outward. There were rows and rows of Sangheili, some sleeping and some awake. They seemed to be talking to one another and did not seem to mind that they had been kidnapped.

"I do hope your suite is comfortable." The prophet laughed. "I am sorry it can not be bigger. But this was the maximum size for the number of expected settlers."

"Settlers?"

"Yes, Princess… Regret is not going to let the Sangheili race be destroyed by the Grand Design. He has taken you, to save your life."

"What do you mean?"

A rough female Sangheili voice came through the Cryo-tube's speaker system. "I shall speak with her, you may continue on your duties." The prophet nodded and walked away.

"What is going on?" Vasmeola replied to the voice, yet she continued to look beyond the glass door.

"That Prophet called you Princess. Of which house were you born?"

"I am not a Princess, but my family is from the House of Vas."

Several voices began to echo across the com system. "Vas?"

"She said the house of Vas?"

"They still live?"

"Thank the ancestors! A pure bloodline is still alive!"

The other female pressed several keystrokes and blocked out the other voices. "Indeed you are a Princess, or should I say Queen. You are the last of the Vas female line, or else your mother would be here. If you live, then so does your house. I am queen of the House of Yal."

"Yal?" Vasmeola questioned. "Your son, Simyaldee…"

The female spoke quickly. "I do not know my son any longer, and neither do you. He died many years ago." She was stern in her statement, almost demanding Vasmeola not to speak any further on the topic.

Vasmoela pushed back the urge to question Simyaldee's mother why she did not want to know about her son. She wanted to tell her that she was Simyaldee's mate, and that she could feel his child beginning to grow within her; something she could not tell Simyaldee when she last saw him.

"Forgive me." Vasmeola countered. "Can you tell me, what is going on?"

"All we know is that Regret found us using the Slave Traders as his cover. He brought us here to save us from the Grand Design… and told us that only the Hierarchs would survive the Great Journey. Everyone else in the galaxy would die. The Slaver Traders explained that the Grand Design is merely the Hierarchs term for galactic conquest. We are being taken away, beyond this galaxy, in order to survive. We do not understand why we must travel so far, but we are obviously unable to resist.

"There are numerous clans, families and races aboard this ship, including the loyalists of the Unggoy, the ones that sided against the Unggoy king during the Rebellion. Their descendents are amongst us and will help us build a better world away from the destruction that will follow."

"What?" Vasmeola questioned. "No, we can not leave our kin to die! If what Regret tells you is true, then billions of our kin will die! We must stay and fight."

"Fight whom? The Covenant? Most of us are females, and the males amongst us are too old to lead a rebellion or fight. And besides, no one will believe us. The Covenant was formed on the principals of the Gods, and the Great Journey. For countless rotations we have followed the wisdom of the Hierarchs. You think a group of old males and females will be able to convince the loyal followers of the Covenant, that the Great Journey is false? Relax, child. Soon our journey will begin. When we arrive at the Ice Ring, we will be free."

Vasmeola slumped to the soft floor, frustrated that once again she could do nothing. "Do you know where this ship is stationed right now; what it is called?"

"No. I gave up asking many months ago. Yet they did share the name of the ship with me. It is called _the Key of Deliverance_."

"_The Key of Deliverance_?" Vasmeola found herself becoming exhaustingly tired. It was sudden and her eyes began to grow heavy.

The old female was also growing tired, and chose not to resist the will to sleep. "I… guess it is time. So tired… now. See you on the other side… Queen of the House of Vas."

Before long, everyone was fast asleep, save only a few Prophets and their Hunagok workers. The first leg of their journey had begun.

- - - - - - - -

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_Wing of the Gods_  
Sangheili Capital ship within the _Fleet of Divine Light_  
High Orbit over Outpost World  
March 29, 2438 :: Sol Relative Time

The armory was once again the back drop to the Mirratord's secret getaway. The room was easily guardable, and even easier to encrypt. But this meeting was unlike the last time the armory was used. This meeting was a debriefing-rendezvous point for their mission.

Four Mirratord officers sat along the wall, each contemplating if the second was successful. With all that had been happening, these minor Mirratord officers had yet to be fully introduced to their new Field Operations Supervisor, Simyaldee. They sat quietly and waited, and after several minutes the door opened and in walked three of the Mirratord's highest ranks: Commander Vadumee, the Mirratord First and Field Operations Commander. He was followed closely by the Mirratord Honor Guard Balmaedee, a Major in the Spec Ops ranks. At his side was a high ranking Mirratord Guard, M'atralee.

Vadumee approached the group. "Has the room been properly secured?"

"Yes Sir." The minor nearest Vadumee replied. "There were a few Kig-yar sharp shooters cleaning their rifles, but we told them to leave."

Vadumee nodded, "Good. When the others return, place one soldier at each entrance of the room." Within moments several Mirratord officers began to file into the armory. Balmaedee and Vadumee waited for them to take their places and then they stepped out into the center of the room.

Balmaedee sternly stated to the Mirratord warriors, "Report from all fronts."

One of the warriors stepped forward, sharply nodded and made his report. "The command crew made no comments to the Spec Ops disruption of their ship. They questioned our presence only briefly." He stepped back into position.

Another warrior stepped forward, "The Ship Master was irritated that the elder lashed out at him, but he merely grumbled a few displeasing tones toward the Spec Ops." He returned to his position as well.

Vadumee smirked, "I am sure that he directed his displeasure solely at me. What of Engineering and the landing deck?"

Continuing with their protocols, the warriors made their reports. "The landing deck was active, yet no more then normal. Elder Misuvai departed as ordered."

"Nothing to report from engineering. The Hunagok completely ignored the situation."

Vadumee looked his warriors over, though young they were smart, tactful, strong and cunning; yet all of that was nothing compared to their abilities in combat. He was proud of what he created. They were the Mirratord Law in living form.

Standing firm, Vadumee paced in a slow circle in front of the warriors under his command, making sure he made full eye contact with each of them. "Good, very good. I trust that you all understand the severity of this first mission. An Elder was accused of acting against the will of the Sangheili race. His hands were tainted with Sangheili blood… innocent blood, and for that there is nothing more deserving then for the Mirratord to act. Though I am sure that many of you believe this first mission was… beneath… your abilities, spying upon the crew of this ship, none the less you performed them admirably. From this moment on, you have all earned the right to dawn your purple bars, and our missions will not become any easier."

Vadumee turned to M'atralee, "You have your orders. Select your unit and prepare to disembark."

"Yes Commander." M'atralee walked toward two of his long time friends, fellow graduates from the Frestun Academy on Dorenth. "You two will come with me. I will give you the details of our mission at the conclusion of this meeting." They agreed, elbowing each other knowing that they were lucky enough be getting their next mission. M'atralee raised his lower mandibles in what could only be understood as a smile. He knew these two warriors long and well, and knew that they would follow his orders without question. He turned to the Commander. "My team is ready, Sir."

"Good. Now we wait. The Second should be returning soon."

The group of twenty-two Mirratord warriors began to walk about the room, talking amongst each other and examining the various weapons in the Armory. Down time was something the Spec Ops, and in this case the Mirratord Field Operatives, rarely experienced. Field Operatives were constantly active, even in non battle situations they were sent to remote locations or used to calm civil disputes on occupied worlds; Special Operations did not know peace.

After nearly an hour of waiting the door to the room finally opened and in walked Simyaldee, the Mirratord Second in command.

"It is done." He softly stated.

Vadumee stood silent in the center of the room, as Balmaedee approached him. "What did you discover?"

"The elder admitted his treason; he was working with the Prophets." The room filled with roars of disapproval, that one of their elders, even a lowly Vai, would succumb to the Prophets will. Simyaldee continued. "I recorded his words. The Council will need to be notified, as I am sure that his death has reached them by now."

"And the Princess?" Balmaedee questioned sharply.

Simyaldee did not move, yet it was clear to everyone that he seemed to crumble to his knees. "Dead. The Hierarch stated it… he said that he ordered them killed." Simyaldee almost trembled at the words, yet he kept face and stood tall. Vadumee and Balmaedee could understand that Simyaldee was visually holding his emotions in check, yet inside he was truly in a great deal of pain.

A young warrior stepped forward and screamed, "We now have proof of the Prophets lies! We should take this to the council and ask them if we can attack!"

"No." Simyaldee stated. "Not yet. I understand your eagerness, brother; I wished to pounce upon the Hierarch and slay him, but they are the leaders of the Covenant. We can not attack them without more evidence. If we approached them about killing her, the Hierarchs would clearly defend their actions saying that Princess was a convicted murderer. We would loose our cover, and our chance to remove them from power."

"I could not have said it better myself." Vadumee added. "We need time to gain more solid proof of their lies. However, I must ask. Killing an elder is not easy, was it brother?"

Simyaldee held his hands out slightly, palm upward, and glared at them. As he lowered them he exhaled, "We were always taught to respect the elders. To uphold their teachings as if they were the words of our ancestors themselves, yet not even they are perfect. If we can not trust the elders, whom can we trust? "

Vadumee looked around the room, capturing the glare of all of his Mirratord soldiers. "The second asks a valid question. If we can not trust the Council, who will we trust? Look around you brothers, I did not bring you together simply because of your skill and strength. There are many amongst the Sangheili who are equally as skilled in combat, however they like something that I also sought in all of you. They lacked the questioning nature of the Prophets. Each of you has doubts about the Hierarchy, and that is crucial to your role within the Mirratord." Vadumee walked to each of his Mirratord officers. "My role, as the founder of this core unit, is to be watchful of the Prophets and the other races of the Covenant. They will always know where I am, and my tasks, however you are all invisible to their eyes. This is why there must always be a Second in command. The Second will be my eyes and ears, and your Field Commander. For the Mirratord to work, we must trust one another. We are right hand, the working hand, of the High Council, yet if the council turns its back on us, we can be severed from their arms. And like a ghost, we will vanish."

Vadumee continued around the room, placing his hands upon each of the gathered Mirratord Spec ops. "You, my Field Operatives, are the only few Mirratord warriors that will see direct combat. But there are more of you. From Ship Masters, to Field Masters, to Majors and raw recruits, the Mirratord are scattered throughout the fleet. Together we stand forty in all… forty complete." He stopped at Simyaldee. "You ask whom can you trust. Brother, you have thirty-nine shoulders to trust."

Balmaedee stood tall. "We are the Mirratord."

Jointly, the Mirratord replied. "_We strike with speed and stealth. Our enemies will not see their deaths. They will not know their fate! In darkness, we will see light. In light, we will see darkness. No mater the location, we will see victory. If we fail, no one will know. Like a ghost, our presence is a mystery._ "

Vadumee concluded the avowal. "For the honor of the Mirratord"

Vadumee stared into Simyaldee's eyes. "Do not grieve brother, harness that pain, accept it, and remember what the Prophets took from you this day. We all have pain, not one of us can say there is not something that the Prophets have destroyed in our hearts. We will do our duty to the council, and for ourselves."

Simyaldee stood tall, and held back his sadness. His thoughts of Vasmeola danced in his head, and though they were mates for only a short while, he vowed to never take another mate until he had avenged her death. He folded his arms across his chest, and remained silent.

"M'atralee," Vadumee directed. "You and your team are dismissed. You're your mission is complete report back to the Second."

"Yes Sir." The three warriors exited the room.

"Second, I will brief you on their mission after we meet with the council." Vadumee added. Simyaldee nodded and watched as M'atralee and his team exited the room. "You may dismiss the meeting."

Simyaldee stepped forward and nodded, "For the honor of the Mirratord." The group repeated and then exited the room.

Vadumee turned to Balmaedee and Simyaldee, "Now then, before we depart, it is time to introduce you both to the Single Blade." Vadumee unclipped two energy sword hilts from his hip belt and held them in each hand. He power them on the two warriors watched as the forged energy extended up his forearm, instead of outward like a regular blade. "They are primarily for close quarters combat, but in a few months you will learn that these blades will be the only weapon you will ever need in your arsenal. I have been practicing with them for several months, and I have found numerous uses for them. Because of my position, I will not carry them; its design will lead to suspicion if seen by others. The council is developing forty pairs of these, one for each of our warriors to use. In six months, during the next Graduation Ceremony, I will summon everyone back to Dorenth to train in the Cave of the Prospects. You will lead this training and so you must learn the Ancient Arts of our ancestors. It is a combat style of swiftness, elegance, and power. Unlike our military training, which is mainly based on weapons and strategy, our Ancient teachings muster stealth, balance and grace; it is a form of hand to hand combat. Balmaedee has been taught the basics, but there is much more to be learned. Believe me, it will be many years before you can be considered a master at any one art."

"Should we not report to the Council first?" Simyaldee questioned. "I do not wish for anything to break my concentration later."

"He sounds eager to learn, Commander." Balmaedee chuckled.

"He will regret it later." Vadumee replied. "Believe me brother, your body will soon discover muscles that not even our old Master was able to make you use." Vadumee placed the single energy blades into Simyaldee's hands. He was amazed at how light they were, unlike the standard energy swords. He powered them on, and instantly felt the heat upon his forearms. His shields began to flash, and quickly faded, he struggled to keep the sword away from his arm, but dropped the sword as the focused energy cut into his arm.

"Get use to it, as it will happen often until you are comfortable with using them." Vadumee smiled. "The trick is to strengthen your wrists and angle the blade away from you at all times. Eventually it shall become second nature to you. But until then, it may be helpful to have several med kits at your disposal."

Simyaldee looked down at the trickles of blood seeping through his body suit, and he sighed heavily. "How can anyone use these weapons?"

Vadumee chuckled. "We are not 'anyone'. We are Mirratord."

- - - - - - - -

_More than eighty years later…_

"The Age of Reclamation"  
_High Charity_  
Council Chambers  
Patrol Zone Border of Jiralhanae Territory  
September 15, 2521 :: Sol Relative Time

"I do not care, Commander." Mercy huffed as he looked over the gathered crowd of the Council Chambers. "Our instructors have been teaching at the Sangheili Academy's for nearly thirty rotations. Returning control back to the Sangheili will only lead us to another Watchmen revolt."

"I am merely sharing the council's wishes." Vadumee stated as he looked to the High Council members sitting to his right.

Regret added, "The Watchmen of the Academy have lacked discipline in the past, the introduction of our instructors changed this. Have not the most recent Sangheili graduates been to your approval? Have they not met or exceeded your expectations?"

Vadumee stepped forward to speak, however a councilor raised his voice from the stands. "Your holiness, what you say is true, but since the founding of the Covenant it has always been the Honored who have instructed our young Watchmen. Can you not see that we are slowly loosing grasp of the very foundations of our ancestry?"

Vadumee lifted his hand and gestured toward the speaking councilor, "The floor recognizes Elder S'et Metraoa."

Mercy turned to face the Sangheili Council. "Elder Metraoa, your ancestors embraced us when we arrived. Both of our races looked beyond our histories in light of pursuing a common goal. I understand your concern, that you wish for the Watchmen to learn more of their heritage, but you are forgetting one thing; this Covenant is the will of the Gods. We are not here for our own aspirations, but to seek the birthright of the Forerunners and to obey the will of our Gods."

Metraoa, M'atralee's father, continued. "We all agree that you and the Gods must be obeyed. But what is a race that has forgotten its past completely?"

"They are slaves." Mercy stated suddenly. The room began to mumble, more so the Elites than the Prophets. Mercy floated closer to the edge of the stage. "Slavery is the one thing we can not let happen. Through humbleness, I shall seek the Gods wisdom, to find a solution to this decree. Your hearts call out to me, brothers of the Sangheili, and your concerns way heavily upon my heart. You feel that we are exacting too much control over you, that soon you will loose yourselves and become like the Unggoy or the Kigyar; a body but no mouth. We, the original founders of this Covenant would never allow such a thing to occur. The Sangheili are our brothers, our kin, and if you have concerns then we shall address them immediately. If it pleases this council, a Prophet shall continue to run and govern their respected Academy, yet no longer will they instruct combat and discipline. We will reduce our roles to teaching Philosophy, Faith and the History of the Gods."

The Elites mumbled amongst themselves for several minutes, while the Prophets opposite of them silently listened. Between the two separated council groups, Vadumee stood and waited. Politics; he was a Warrior and hated every minute of being in the Council Chambers, but as Commander of the Sangheili Forces his presence was needed merely as an emissary; a bridge between the Sangheili military forces and political commerce of the Council.

Vadumee looked up toward the central stage, where Regret and Mercy sat patiently with their Honor Guards. Commander Vadumee longed for the old days, back when the Mirratord was new. His mind raced back to the induction of his best friend, young Rin Simyaldee. Their bond over the last eighty years had grown such that they considered each other as brothers. But now things had changed. While Simyaldee led the Mirratord directly, Vadumee was reduced to being nothing more then a General; talks, meetings and debates.

Vadumee looked to the council chamber's time indicator. It was nearly time for the Mirratord to make their move against the Heretic enclave deep in the heart of Unggoy space. He knew the mission would go without error, Simyaldee never made a mistake. In eighty years of Black Operation missions, missions that would never be revealed to the Prophets, this was bound to be another perfect mission for his long time friend.

Yet, even while he sat in the midst of the councilors, Vadumee was having a bad feeling that something was out of place. Not since Simyaldee and the Mirratord went on their first solo mission without him had he been concerned about a Mirratord mission, yet Vadumee was beginning to worry and he could not understand why.

- - - - - - - -

Age of Reclamation  
The Great Valley of Mittab  
Unggoy Home World  
September 15, 2521 :: Sol Relative Time

Simyaldee and his team could only run as if their lives depended on it. Their intelligence was greatly mistaken. The Heretics had done more then recruit a few Grunts into their ranks; it was nearly the entire population of the grunt home world that was aiding them. With their oxygen masks tightly secured over their heads, Simyaldee and his team of five Mirratord agents sprinted over the odd grassland of the Grunts home planet. The methane rich air created a ghostly nighttime atmosphere, but the Elite's natural sharp vision was still crystal clear.

Considered off limits to any ships, the Grunt's home planet was to be left alone, to let the Grunts that had not been taken into slavery hundreds of years ago, replenish their numbers. Nearly eighty percent of the Grunts were taken into the Covenant after the Grunt king was defeated, including several breeding females. This was a mandatory decree by the Prophets, and that way they could always return to the Grunt planet and there would be millions of fresh troops available. Over time the grunts grew exponentially, and the Heretics Elites sought their numbers.

Simyaldee had uncovered a vicious plan by the Heretic Separatists, a group of Heretic agents that were not under the control of the High Council. This plan would be the ruin of more then just the Covenant, but the Sangheili as well. The Heretic had planned to plant thousands of Grunt sleeper cells into the Covenant. These cells would repeat the plans of the former Grunt King; suicide bombings inside the Covenant ship reactor cores. Simyaldee's mission was simple, find the heart of the Heretic cell and eliminate the chain of command. It was a sound strategy; an attack method that had been successful numerous times; against Jiralhanae spies, Kig-Yar traitors, Heretic Separatists, Sangheili bandits, and Mok'tat Religious fanatics. But what the Mirratord was unaware of was how loyal the Grunts had become.

Thousands of Grunts protected the Heretic camp; their Elite leader was seen almost as if he were a God. This created a problem, as the Grunts showed no fear toward the Elites beneath him. Only the Heretic leader was worthy of fear, and he taught the Grunts not to fear the Elites. Killing the leader's lower ranking support was a simple task, escaping the planet in one peace… that would prove a problem.

Simyaldee breathed easily into his com, "Secondary targets have been eliminated. We have cleared the camp. Unggoy guards are now in pursuit. The camp is clear. Sniper, do you have a shot?"

Several hundred yards away, perched on a cliff outcropping, sat a lone Mirratord warrior. His enhance particle beam rifle was held steady by a gravity support unit. He zoomed into the heart of the camp, pushing the rifle to its maximum range setting. He altered the rifle for the night time mission, though he would rather have held the dual blades in his hands.

"Stand by, Second. He has not emerged from the building."

Simyaldee turned to see that the slowly moving grunts still pursued him and his team. He wished he had thought this plan out more clearly, but he had no way of knowing that the Grunts would mass together this quickly. The original plan was to sneak into camp, kill the Heretic's command staff, and wait for him to emerge from the building, but the number of Grunts made that plan unwise. He had never used a sniper for a mission, and he called it a coward's weapon. He vowed to never use it, but this was the only plan he could think of at such a critical juncture. Crystal shards from Needler rounds exploded on his armor, but only caused his shields to drop two percent.

Simyaldee huffed into his communicator. "If you do not get a clear shot, notify me immediately!" Infiltrating the Heretic's building would have put his team at an unknown disadvantage; literally trapping his team and being surrounded by countless Grunts. This was a good plan, he thought to himself, but it all depended upon the accuracy of his best shooter.

The sniper was steady, looking the tiny building over and waited for the last Elite to come out. His command team, camped outside the building, was dead and eventually he would come out to see what had happened. His only concern was how long the Heretic leader would wait? The sniper watched as the doors parted and an Elite wearing a oxygen helmet stuck his head out; as if on cue.

"Target sited, taking the shot." The warrior held his breath, listened to the moments between his heartbeats, and waited for the Heretic leader to expose more of himself. The leader leaned further out the door, and between the snipers heartbeats he watched as the Heretic leader's head exploded from a thin purple beam of light. The body slumped to its knees and then teetered over. "Target terminated."

Simyaldee unclipped a plasma grenade and primed it. He then clicked on his team wide com. "Exit protocol four!" Simyaldee stopped, as his teammates ran past him, and threw the grenade behind toward the pursing grunts. The grenade landed in the grunts path and detonated, sending blue dust and flames into the night time sky. The Mirratord warriors activated their active camouflage and vanished into the darkness.

As the dust settled, the grunts looked around, puzzled. They tossed their noses into the air, but smelled nothing. The Mirratord had run down wind, perfectly covering their trail from the Grunts enhanced sense of smell. The sniper clipped the bulky and oddly shaped rifle to his back, activated his camouflage and raced to the extraction point. Their mission was over, and after ten days of trekking through the murky Methane atmosphere of he Grunt's world, they could finally relax.

It took their tiny ship more then two weeks to return to the heart of Covenant space, and Simyaldee was overjoyed to see their home, _High Charity_. Under the disguise of a Special Operations survey team, the Mirratord ship docked to the lower docking ring of High Charity and the Ship Master patted Simyaldee on the back.

"The Commander will be overjoyed with the success of this mission, Second." The ship master chuckled. "I thought certainly that this mission would prove to be a challenge, but you pulled it off without hindrance."

Simyaldee simply nodded and tossed his gear over his shoulder. "Remember to erase the trans-light database, and star charts. We do not want anyone to know where we have been."

"Yes sir!" The ship master nodded. He quickly turned and began to erase the records.

Simyaldee had grown into a quiet warrior, focused on duty and discipline. His men trusted him fiercely, and obeyed his orders without question. He was the Mirratord Second, and his men respected and loved him. He walked into the bay of the tiny ship as the men cheered they safe return home.

The docking ring door parted and Balmaedee greeted them. "Second! You brought all the men home safely. My mate will honor you with a meal. Come brothers! My home, as always, is your home!" Balmaedee, the oldest of the Mirratord, patted each of them on the back as they exited the tiny short range ship. Balmaedee was wearing the traditional clothing of the Sangheili because he was off duty, and was in a very pleasant mood.

One of the Mirratord chuckled, "You are in a fairly good mood, brother."

Another chimed in, "Could it be that he has started to drink before we arrived?" The group began to laugh; except Simyaldee.

"We will all gladly join you at your home, after our debriefing." Simyaldee stated. He turned to his team and softly dismissed them. "Rendezvous at the Mausoleum."

"Sir!" The group of four stated simultaneously. As they walked off they laughed and cheered their return.

Balmaedee patted him on the shoulder. "They are good men."

"Yes, they are. This mission forced the men to think beyond the normal situations, and understand that sometimes we must improvise in the field. I feel that I can finally rest as ease, knowing that the Mirratord is complete. Vadumee will be pleased; there is nothing more that I can teach them." Simyaldee turned to Balmaedee. "Aside from that, how did it go? What was the council's decision during the deliberations?"

Balmaedee sighed heavily. "It really is all business with you. It went as well as could be expected. The Prophets will remain in the academy but they will no longer teach combat; merely Religion and History."

"It is a start." Simyaldee began to walk away. "I will debrief the men and the council, and my young team will join you at your home. Tell Symaesa that it will be a long night."

"She shall be looking forward to it, brother."

- - - - - - - -

Later that evening in_ High Charity's_ civilian district; Balmaedee's large home was filled with happy soldiers, all wearing their traditional Sangheili garb. Young single females from the House of Mae catered to the warriors' every need. These females were cousins and nieces of Balmaedee and all looking to find mates. But the focus of the party was to celebrate the safe return of the warriors; though none spoke of the mission. Cheerful singing and laughter and music filled the home and into the streets. When the warriors celebrated it was often a community affair, and soon enough the house filled with nearly fifty patrons and friends, civilians and councilors.

Balmaedee carried around a large pitcher of alcohol as his eldest son looked to the warriors with wide eyes of hope. Simyaldee looked to the group as he nursed his drinking slowly.

"Be of good cheer, brother!" Balmaedee laughed. "My home is open to you, and my family has a vast line of single females. Choose yourself a new mate!" Drunk and full of cheer, Balmaedee laughed deeply at Simyaldee.

Simyaldee walked away. "No offense, brother, but you should understand my hesitation." Balmaedee ceased his laughter and followed his comrade out of the house. The joyful party continued inside as Balmaedee and Simyaldee walked into the artificial yard of his home. Several young couples flirted about in the darkness but Simyaldee didn't care, his mind raced to his long lost love.

"Brother, I meant no disrespect." Balmaedee apologized. "But it has been countless cycles. It is time for you to take a mate and bring forth heirs to your name. Rebuild the House of Yal…"

"No!" Simyaldee stormed back. He quickly chugged his drink and sat upon a small grass hill. He looked to the distant lights of the massive Forerunner ship, towering into the domed sky of High Charity. Thin wisps of clouds floated around the towering structure, giving High Charity an almost planetary feel. "I can not think of such things until I avenge her. I understand how important it is that I rebuild my family's home, yet how can I care for my mate if I am torn over another?"

Balmaedee chuckled, "No one said you have to love her. Just father some children with her; bare heirs. And when the Prophet's grasp on us cease, then you can fully embrace your mate. Of my family I know of several worthy females for you… I have known you long enough to know your tastes."

"I understand your concern, brother, but no thank you." Simyaldee continued to gaze into the sky as Balmaedee patted him on the shoulder. "What of your oldest son? How goes his Academy training?"

"Doz will be a formidable warrior someday. I train him when I can, but I have no doubt that he will enter the Academy at the head of his class. I wish it were an Academy on Dorenth, but the High Charity academies have received good merit."

"Hopefully he will not cower during the Parade." Simyaldee added.

"My son, cower?" Balmaedee strongly questioned. "Perish the thought! It will never happen! He will show the honored his discipline and make head of the class." Balmaedee laughed to himself. Simyaldee simply nodded with a quiet smirk. Yet their time of bonding was slowly fading. Overhead, a Phantom was quickly descending toward Balmaedee's home.

"This is not good." Simyaldee whispered.

The ship quickly hovered over the home and the gravity lift descended a few feet from Simyaldee and Balmaedee. A red armored Elite exited the ship and quickly approached Balmaedee and Simyaldee.

"Lieutenant, Major, there has been a discovery. You and the Spec Ops are needed immediately. I have been sent by the Commander to bring you both to the Council Chambers."

Simyaldee and Balmaedee wasted no time, they could alert the other soldiers later, for now they let the party continue. The boarded the Phantom and quickly sped to the military zone of High Charity.

The Council Chambers were in complete awe as the Hologram displayed a giant silver ring in high orbit of a bright blue world. Mercy and Regret sat upon the stage as the Truth's image glistened near them.

The chamber doors opened and Vadumee looked to his two brothers in arm. "Where are you uniforms?"

"You caught us at a bad time…" Balmaedee suddenly was speechless. "Is that?"

"Yes brother. It is Halo."

Simyaldee stood mouth agape as he looked into the monstrous Hologram at the center of the Council Chambers. "By the Gods. You were right… it is too hard to fathom."

"An expedition found it nearly six weeks ago, Truth went there to verify. This is the first visual we have received since Truth arrived there. He is currently returning here, but his message could not wait. They discovered something."

"What?" Balmaedee questioned.

"Truth has yet to say." Vadumee relayed. "I intend to send a Spec Ops unit there to investigate. M'atralee will lead, though the Mirratord will not be involved. Truth has vowed to send _the Fleet of Divine Light_, our _The Fleet of Particular Justice_ will be on standby."

The Elite and Prophet Councilors began to stir as Truth's image once again to center stage.

"Truth is about to speak again." Vadumee whispered.

"_Brothers of the Covenant, here me. In this great and holy time, we encountered an ancient defiler of hour Holy Quest. An unknown ship approached us as we scanned the Holy ring and it dared to attack us. But the Gods shined highly upon us, as we ended their crusade. We attempted to communicate with them, but they turned a def shoulder to our plea. We found their bodies amongst the ruin of their vessels. I will let his Holiness Mercy explain."_

Truth's image faded and in its place appeared the image of small skinny creature. Its body was nearly hairless accept on the top of his head, and in the middle of its body. The image split and showed it wearing a thin cloth material. It had two arms and legs, much like any other creature, however the Prophets seemed terrified.

"Brothers! Brothers!" Mercy screamed to the council of Prophets and Elites. "These creatures are the sworn enemies of the Gods! How… how can it be that they still live? By the Gods… we must finished what the Forerunners began. We must protect Halo from these creatures, these… humans! The ancient ones knew their destructive power. Do not be fooled by their frail appearance. They are cunning and smart and bread like a plaque. They must be stopped, the must be destroyed. They would attack us without warning, and force Truth to return to the safety of the Covenant. How… how can we not find them and let loose our ferocious might upon them?" The Councilors were quickly stirred by Mercy's words standing and roaring in praise.

"For several years now, we have worked peacefully together to answer the great question of our Gods, and draw ever closer to the Great Journey! But now, the enemy of the Forerunners, the enemy of our Gods has appeared! Mighty Warriors, it is time to rise up! It is time to stand proud! We are the Covenant, the most powerful force in the universe, and we shall not be hindered on the eve of our greatest answers!"

A roar of applause escaped all the councilors, Prophet and Elite, as Simyaldee looked to Vadumee. "The Great Journey is real! By the God's… it is real!"

"As I have told you brother, I saw the first image of Halo years ago. But this changes nothing. We will fight and slaughter the enemy of the Gods, but we will be cautious of Prophets."

Mercy continued. "Truth has launched hundreds of probes, and when we find the humans the _Fleet of Divine Light_ will be sent. We will send out our might instruments to end the humans' evil existence!" A cheer of applause escaped every Elite and Prophet's mouth as word quickly spread throughout the Armada of this evil alien race.

Simyaldee looked once more to the image of the human floating in the council chamber. "For the will Gods we will fight them. For the future of the Great Journey, we will destroy them."

- - - - - - -

Truth thumbed his stubble as he listened to the recording once again.

"_Hello. This is Expedition outpost Prime, to any Sangheili patrol ships. Can anyone read me? My name is Vasmeola, the elected leader of the resistance group. Our ship is the Key of Deliverance, and its navigational makers have been erased. We do not have the coordinates to return to Covenant space. I have attached the star chart of our location into this transmission. All we know is that we are beyond Forerunner space. There is another strange alien race on this world… they call themselves 'The Prime', but they will not tell us more then this. Please respond. We will monitor this channel for as long as we can. We understand that it may take many months for this transmission to reach anyone… please… help us…"_

He turned to his lower Prophet assistant. "Has this transmission reached covenant space yet?"

"No, your Excellency. It has been traveling for more then three months. It has just reached our territory."

"Jam the transmission, fill it with static if you must. Make no record of receiving it. Tell the Sangheili communications officer to report to me immediately. If he spoke to anyone about this, be prepared to eliminate the entire command crew. Once we arrive back at the Armada I want a full inspection into why the Princess of Vas is still alive… and how she found the Forerunners Home World."

"What about the ship, your Excellency? She called it the _Key of Deliverance_?"

"Check the name in our database, though I do not believe you will find anything. Someone has been trying to pull the wool over my eyes, and I am not one to be trifled with."

**The End**

Continue the Mirratord Adventures by reading the "Halo Side Trilogy", starting with "Stand, Five Feet High", and continuing with "If I Were Your Hero". **Coming March 2007, the final chapter of the Halo Side Trilogy; "The Path of Reclamation"**.

_-Halo © 2006 Bungie Microsoft Corporation  
-Halo 2 © 2006 Bungie Microsoft Corporation  
-All rights reserved  
-All characters, characters names and descriptions related to Halo, Halo 2 © 2006 Bungie Microsoft Corporation  
-The Miratord and all its character names created by Soulguard_


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